


Theirs is a Song of Ice & Fire

by LadyOfDragonstone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), jonerys - Fandom
Genre: ASoIaF, Arya and Gendry are crushing fools, Boatsex, CRYPT SEX YOU WERE WARNED, F/M, Inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Jon and Dany, Jon and Dany Fanfic, Jonerys, Jonerys SMUT on chapters 3 7 and 13, Plot in coming chapters, Smut, Titty sucking in coming chapters, Tyrion is conflicted and confused but he's got the right spirit, Unresolved tension between Tyrion x Sansa, Work In Progress, daenerys targaryen and jon snow, ice and fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-12-30 02:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12098799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfDragonstone/pseuds/LadyOfDragonstone
Summary: The North assembles for war. Daenerys and Jon struggle to divide love and politics. Tyrion and Sansa play the game of thrones. Arya has reunions. Based off of Show Canon; Cont. after Season 7 finale. (Smut warning 18+)





	1. JON

**Author's Note:**

> These characters are owned by George R.R Martin and HBO. My predictions on how they will face the long night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers,
> 
> This was my first fic ever, so after learning and practicing in being a better writer, I've decided to update all the original chapters with better style. If you're reading this past Jun 28, 2018, this chapter has been revised and improved upon the already existing timeline and scenes. There are some things plot-wise I would have done differently then if I was as informed as I am now, but I still love this little fic and all your support for it. 
> 
> My tumblr is @violet-eyes-silver hair, if you'd like to contact me, or you can just comment down here, I check Ao3 every 2 days. 
> 
> A lot of work was put into this, so I hope you like it :)

JON

 

The sound of waves crashing against wood woke up the king of the North. He became aware of a sweet scent under his nose, the feel of his own hand nestled around a warm belly. His eyes snapped open as he moved his hand away from her in a daze, grazing the under underside of her breasts in the process. His manhood twitched unintentionally by her thighs, making him edge away even more as if not to wake her. 

The efforts were in vain; He froze as Daenerys’ eyes fluttered slightly. Lazily, she turned her body towards him and reached out to hold his torso and nuzzle her head by his shoulder. Jon relaxed against her, but he could feel the heat rushing to his face. He didn't know if she was awake or not, but he contented himself with gently threading his fingers through her hair. Her eyes were still closed, but she smiled against his skin. 

His insides felt warm; he allowed himself a moment to savor the feel of her skin. Jon had not felt so blissful since before the day he died. The memory chilled him, and the warmth in his chest was joined by guilt. He knew the long night was coming. They both needed to assemble, and winter was here. He breathed in the scent in her hair before willing himself to budge.

“My Queen,” he began, his tone too formal.

He felt Daenerys tense under him, he edged aside slightly as to allow her to sit up. Instead, she only raised her eyes to meet his gaze. His heart quickened. Had his selfish risk spoiled their alliance? 

The Queen sat up, furs slipping from her shoulders. Jon felt his face grow hot, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. She leaned forward and kissed him gently, her soft fingers sliding into his hair. Relieved, he kissed her back, placing his hands on her hips. 

Their lips parted, but they kept their foreheads pressed together. Jon could feel her breath on his skin, hear their hearts beating fast. Dany threw her leg in between his and sat on his thigh. She kissed his neck, and his grip now tight on her waist. Her hands his chest, stroking his nearest scar with her thumb. 

“Would you like me to leave to my chambers now?” he suggested in a low voice.

She lifted her head and raised an eyebrow, “Do you regret coming here?” He shook his head, “I wouldn’t want to dishonor you, is all.”

She chuckled, and slid her hands to his shoulders, “Only I can dishonor me, and I have no shame in being with a King.” His heart soared.

“I’m a bastard,” he reminded her. She gripped his shoulders tighter.

“You’re a King, Jon Snow” she stated. It was the first time he called him by his name. She kissed him sweetly before dismounting the bed.

Dany wrapped herself with his cloak, making his chest flood with affection. He got off her bed and began dressing himself as Dany poured a Dornish red into her cup. She sat down, drinking gingerly as she watched him work through his laces. Fully dressed, he sat across from her and reached for her hand. 

“Father used to say that men who began their days with wine would end their day in their graves.”

Daenerys chuckled, but put her glass down, “I’m not a man.”

“Aye,” he agreed, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. He squeezed her hand, running his thumb over the back.

“They say your father was the most honorable man in all the Seven Kingdoms. You must be the very image of him.”

Lord Stark might have once been the most honorable man indeed, though Jon, yet he is living proof of his dishonor. He smiled sadly, bringing her hand to his lips. He stood up.

“We should arrive in White Harbour soon. Then we will ride through the Kingsroad until we reach Winterfell. I suggest you dress warmly. The North’s cold will be unforgiving now that winter is here, even to its Queen.”

“I’ll have my maids drape me in the thickets of furs then,” she replied, standing to wrap her hands around him. He held her face, and leaned to kiss her deeply before exiting her chambers, a smile stuck to his lips.

Only until he reached the harsh winds of the deck, did he realize he had left his cloak wrapped around his Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, feedback is appreciated


	2. SANSA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! you're feedback is very important to me :)

SANSA

Sansa Stark reached inside her cloak and touched the fine strip of parchment. It was Jon’s message, informing her that he was marching North with the Dragon Queen. She looked out into the courtyard to watch the men as they shoveled snow away from the main gates. Since the arrival of Jon’s message, Arya had been seen near the entrance more often. Sansa knew that she was expecting their brother to ride in through the wooden gates at any moment. All Sansa could feel was dread and worry. She thought of her father, mother, of Robb and Rickon. She thought of her own dreary life at King’s Landing. Starks were never safe in the south. But the King is not a Stark, she reminded herself. 

The King’s message was clear: he had yielded the North to Targaryen rule. She wondered what had made Jon relent the North to Daenerys Stormborn. She knew that he was honorable, and that he would rather die that give the North to those who would harm it. Sansa wondered if the Dragon Queen had threaten to kill the Northmen; Jon would do anything to keep them safe. He never told her wether the Queen truly had Dragons, and the thought filled her with dread. Then she remembered that the King was a man, and that he could be fooled the way men are often fooled by beautiful women. Sansa reminisced about Cersei Lannister, how she taught her about a woman’s weapon, the one between her legs. She pictured Cersei with silver hair in place of gold, giving Jon a warm smile. The thought chilled her.

Still in her thoughts, she continued to walk away from the cold courtyard. Suddenly, a horrible, eerie screech filled the air. Arya appeared at her side, gripping the pommel of her sheathed sword. Every person held their breath. All sounds had died, as another thundering screech filled the air. She heard the sounds of giant wings beating against wind, and watched as a dragon flew over them. Everyone watched the sky with fear and fascination until it vanished. She looked at Arya, who was still looking at the sky with wonder. Then a yell broke the silence. 

“Open the gates!” 

Arya’s gaze was torn from the sky. Sansa’s own heart leap, she held her breath as the wooden doors opened. A party of horses and their riders entered. She recognized the Onion Knight, Ser Davos SeaWorth riding in the front, alongside a stern faced man with dark skin and fine leather armor. She saw red and grey banners, but no sign of her brother. Her blood chilled. Had something happened to him? She saw more dark men wearing a mix of Lannister armor and yellow furs, long braids swinging behind them. 

She felt Arya’s hand grip her wrist painfully, and she understood. She barely caught a glimpse of Jon’s brown eyes before everyone started to kneel to their king. She exchanged a look with Arya, hoping she understood that Jon was their King first, brother second. They both knelt in the cold snow, looking up at the King in the North. He looked around at his people, frowning, then back at Ser Davos. He dismounted his steed and motioned for them to stand straight.

Sansa rose to her feet, alongside her sister. Arya ran towards Jon’s arms before the Northmen could stand up. It was the first time that Arya looked childlike since she arrived. Sansa thought that she looked so small next to him, hugging his middle. When they broke apart, Jon reached to grasp Arya’s face. He lowered himself to match her eye level. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he said, smiling.  
“Me too,” she nodded, “I’m only safe because of you, because of needle.” 

Jon lowered his eyes to the pommel of her sword. He nodded, then kissed the top of her head. He made his way to Sansa, and hugged her too. She hugged him back, her fears evaporated with the warmth of his return.

“Thank you,” he said after releasing her, “For keeping the North safe.”

Sansa nodded, and he kissed the top of her head as well. He looked around expectantly. 

“Where is Bran?” A touch of worry in his voice.  
“In his chambers, I expect he will greet you soon,” she replied.

He exhaled, looking back to the men on horseback. Sansa realized with a jolt that Tyrion Lannister had made his way towards them too. She remembered that he was now hand of the Queen. She hoped that he understood their marriage was no more. A look into his eyes told her as much. He dismounted, and walked to greet them. 

“Lady Sansa, Lady Arya” he acknowledged, “Our Queen thanks you for allowing us into your home during these dark times.”

Sansa opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Wyman Manderly.

“Where is your Queen, Imp?” He called.

Jon scowled, “Lord Tyrion is a valuable ally to the North, Lord Manderly,” he looked up at the sky, "I believe her Grace is arriving now.”

Surely, the sound of flapping wings was heard again as another Dragon filled the space above the castle. Darker, and bigger than the last, its wings casting a shadow upon everyone, high or lowborn. As it moved closer, the men and horses near its path ran as far as they could muster. Two giant claws dug into the snow, as the black and red dragon opened its wings and roared. Despite its weight, it moved at a remarkable speed towards the crowd. The dragon roared so fiercely at Lord Manderly that he fell down. Almost everyone backed away in fear, the only person that didn’t look affected by the arrival of the beast was the King in the North. She froze in horror as Jon reached out a hand towards the beast. It lowered its snout to Jon's touch, but kept its red eyes focused on the crowd. Sansa noted how royal Jon looked in his Stark armour, unaffected by the great dragon. 

Arya let out an icy breath, making Sansa look up. Whispers filled the air as a silver head peeked out from on top of the monstrous creature. A radiant woman climbed down from her Dragon, her silver hair whipping through the air, her deep eyes piercing through them all. Her eyes met Jon's, taking his outstretched hand for support as she finally reached the ground. She let go of his hand to pet her Dragon before it stretched out its wings, taking off. The King turned to the crowd:

“I traveled South, to Dragonstone seeking dragonglass and allies to help us in our fight. I promised you that I would fight to protect the North, and I have returned with more than we could have ever hoped for. I met with Queen Daenerys Targaryen, and we come here, together, as allies. I ask you to leave the wars of the past behind you, because we will face this war alongside House Targaryen.” 

Murmurs of agreement and discord broke out alike. Sansa looked at Arya’s unreadable expression, calculating eyes. The Dragon Queen walked forward, and all murmurs stopped. 

“Some of you have lost fathers and sons to the war against my father,” she began, “I promise you, their fight was not in vain. I am not my father; I have not come to conquer the North. I have fought alongside your king, and I have seen the army of the dead. The long night is upon us, the dead are coming, and I vow to you, we will bring them fire and blood.”

The northmen cried out in agreement. She noticed Arya’s mouth twitched upwards, and Jon’s eyes softened when he looked at the Queen. Daenerys smiled indulgently, and turned back to give her men orders. Sansa caught Tyrion’s eyes, and they exchanged a dark look. She noticed that he had exchanged his golden Hand of the King pin for a silver one. His face was no longer shaven clean, but covered in gold and brown hairs. He turned away from the King and Queen, a frown on his face. Sansa was reminded of what Petyr Baelish said to her. Jon is young and unmarried, Daenerys is young and unmarried. Together, they’d be difficult to defeat. 

“It is always a delight to see you, Lady Stark,” Tyrion said. 

“You as well, my Lord. I will not forget your kindness during my time in King’s landing,” she replied.

“Ah yes, basic goodness does seem like a rare luxury in that wretched place. I’m glad you’ve made it home.”

“Me too, my Lord.”

The King and Queen walked forward towards them. Sansa curtsied. Aya bowed. 

“Welcome to Winterfell, Your Grace,” She began.

“Your Grace, these are my sisters, Sansa and Arya Stark,” Jon said to the Queen.

Daenerys Stepped forward and smiled to them, “Thank you for holding the North, My Ladies, House Targaryen is in your debt.”

Sansa was suddenly reminded of Cersei. She kept her voice even. “It was an honor to keep the North safe, your Grace.”

Arya stepped forward, “I always hoped to see dragons, I’ve read a lot about them, but it can never be compared to seeing one in front of you. Perhaps someday, if they return in the masses, I will find my own dragon to ride into battle."

Sansa cursed her sister internally, but the Queen chuckled, and grinned. 

“I’m afraid only those of Targaryen blood can ride them, I fear they might not take well to being approached by anyone else.”

“Ah, that is a shame, still, Valar Morghulis,” Arya said. Jon and Sansa stared at her questioningly, but the Queen’s smile deepened, and she exchanged a knowing look with the woman beside her.

“You never told me your sisters spoke High Valyrian,” Daenerys said, turning to Jon.

“I didn’t know,” he said simply.

“I’m afraid only Arya speaks High Valyrian, I only speak the common tongue,” Sansa added.

“Aye, me too,” Jon admitted, his eyes still focused on Arya. 

They began to make their way to the castle’s warmth. Sansa’s began to worry again when she noted how close Daenerys was to Jon. Much too close to be considered proper for an unmarried couple. When she remembered marriage, her eyes flickered to Tyrion, who also seemed to notice the Queen’s closeness to the King in the North. 

Jon walked up to a servant girl, “It’s been a long ride, find our guests suitable rooms and have a hot baths drawn and a good suppers sent to their chambers.” 

“Of course, your Grace.” The girl bowed and left. 

“The North ought to know soon,” Tyrion warned in a low voice.

Jon nodded in agreement, "They will.”

Daenerys faced them both, “Perhaps, you ought to remain King in the North,” She said, “At least until the dead are dealt with.”

“The North needs to be united when we face battle,” He agreed, “But we should discuss it later.”

“Your Grace,” Tyrion urged, “Should the King in the North fall during battle, the North needs to know that he pledged himself for your cause.” 

Arya glared at him. Daenerys exchanged a look with a Jon, her eyes flickered towards Arya and Sansa. “You’re right,” she said, “We will discuss this later.”

When they reached the inside of the castle, the guests were led to their rooms. Jon told them that he would see them after he took a long bath and ate his supper. As soon as Jon left them, Arya left Sansa’s side. She made her way upstairs until she faced the chamber she was looking for. Sansa rapped on the door. Bran opened.

“Jon is home,” he stated, “I saw him from my window.”

She nodded, “He’ll want to see you soon. And perhaps you would do well to greet the Queen as well.”

“I will. I’ve been looking forward to meeting Daenerys Stormborn, but perhaps she won’t be so thrilled once she sees me,” Bran said.

Sansa considered asking what he meant, but only nodded and left his room.


	3. DANY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys settles in Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Targaryen reveal will be soon I promise! Let me know what you think.

DANY

 

Once alone in her chambers, Daenerys settled on a chair in front of the fire, thinking over the events from earlier that day. She fiddled the dragon brooch on her chest, watching the flames flicker. A soft knock came through the door.

“Come in,” she called, placing her hands on her lap.

Tyrion Lannister entered the room and sat across from her. It wasn’t until her heart sank that she realized she had been hoping for someone else. She turned to watch the fire again. She offered him some wine, but he shook his head. 

“Thank you, but i fear the Northerners have never known to make good wine,” he mused.

Denying wine meant that he was there for a short visit. She knew that Tyrion would approach her about her relationship with Jon. Tyrion was no fool, he must have caught on to their stolen nights on her ship. She also didn’t make a point to hide their meetings every night inside her tent while riding The King’s road. Daenerys knew her hand meant well, but she couldn’t help but to feel betrayed at his disapproval. 

“When you made me your hand, I swore to advise you, even if-” He hesitated, looking into the fire, “even if you might not want to hear what I have to say.”

“So what do you have to say?” she said cooly.

He seemed encouraged by her lack of protest, “The Northern lords will fight alongside you to defeat our common enemy. But make no mistake, their loyalties don’t lie with you, or at least not yet. Our alliance with the North should stay strong, and strictly political.”

Dany said nothing, but turned to study his face. Tyrion looked back into her eyes somberly.

“When we left Meeren,” he continued, "you left Daario Naharis behind. You knew the best way to make alliances is with marriage but-”

“I haven’t said anything about a marriage alliance,” she interjected.

“Your grace, it seems that you and the King in the North have gotten closer than anyone had expected. Jon Snow is a good man, and I will stand behind you with any decision you choose to make, but perhaps it would be wiser if you treated this alliance as strictly political,” he urged, “At least, to the public.”

She nodded in agreement, “That’s fair. I will not have the northern lords believe I won the North by enticing their king.”

Tyrion nodded, “It seems the wisest choice.”

“Thank you for your counsel, Lord Tyrion. If I may have some time to myself.”

“Of course, your grace,” he said, bowing before leaving her chambers.

A group of handmaidens drew a hot bath for her, scalding hot, just as she liked it. She dismissed them. It had been awhile since her last bath, and she wanted to be clean to meet the northern lords.

She began to unfasten the clasp at her cloak when another knock startled her. Her heart leapt as she opened the door. Her eyes fell on the scar right above his eye.

“Your grace,” said Jon Snow, “are all the arrangements to your liking?”

“No,” she replied, making him raise his eyebrows.

She made sure that no one besides him was out in the hall before letting him in. He hesitated before closing the door. She allowed her cloak to fall to the ground and turned around.

“I can’t stay long,” he informed her. Dany ignored him.

“Would you be so kind as to undo my laces?” 

She suppressed a shiver when she felt his fingers brush her curls away. He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck before unraveling the laces in her back. The work was slow and sweet. She finally shrugged out of her dress. Left in her small clothes, she walked towards her vanity to loosen her braids. She glanced at him through the mirror, admiring the effect she had on him. She turned her focus on her braids again.

“Lord Tyrion knows,” Daenerys said, “He knows about our late night meetings."

Jon shifted uncomfortably. He had always tried his best to be unseen when he approached her, honor in his thoughts. She thought back of Daario Naharis, who would often remark in public about bedding the Queen. Her heart swelled in further affection, a dangerous thing. 

“And what did your Lord Hand say?”

“He advised me to keep this situation private. Should your banner men find out, it would put me in a difficult spot. ”

He sat at the edge of her bed, starring at the hearth. His silence worried her. She had half a mind to beg him to marry her, but she was a Queen, not a beggar.

“They will come to know their Queen,” he paused, “You've fought for your people. You’re willing to risk your life for them. They understand honor and strength. The unsullied and the Dothraki didn’t follow you here because you offered them gold or castles.”

“I can’t imagine the Northern lords will grow fond of either of them,” she said darkly.

“We find our true friends in the battlefield, I told them as much when they refused to accept the free-folk. The North will not forget who fought by their side.”

“What about you?” She stood to face him, “What happens after you no longer need my armies or my dragons?”

Daenerys had come to know Jon as truthful and direct, but he adverted her gaze. “I will honor my pledge to your claim for the Iron Throne. The North is behind you, until the end. No matter what might come.”

Her heart began to quicken its pace, hammering through her. Dany knew he thought of himself as a bastard, unworthy of titles and lands... yet he had been declared King in the North. 

“Will you stay at my side when I come into the throne?” 

Jon stood, and took both of her hands into his. He stayed quiet, looking down at their joint hands. “The North will always be my home. I’ve never considered leaving it before, but,” he looked up, she could see determination in his eyes, “I will follow you to the edge of the world, if you’ll have me.”

Dany pulled him closer to her and kissed him fiercely. She liked the feel of his beard against her lips. She ran her hands through his hair, mad with lust. They moved back until he was at the edge of the bed. They fell onto it, grasping as much of each other as they could. He squeezed her thighs, and she felt his manhood grow under her weight. Daenerys had mounted him before, but it had always slow and passionate. She fumbled through his laces, wetness between her legs. 

“I'll have to go soon,” he protested faintly, his breath ragged and hot against her skin. But his lips were on hers again, and she could not tame the dragon any longer.

Daenerys sheathed herself around his length, enjoying the way he filled her. She raised her body and kept him flat on his back. She rode him urgently, rocking her hips to a pace fitting of a dragon. He squeezed her ass, and pushed his own hips hard at the same pace. He groaned in pleasure. Jon sat up and ripped through the front of her small clothes, the wolf blood engulfing his desire. His tongue entered her mouth as his hands greedily sought her breasts. Jon Snow had set her on fire, and a dragon is strongest amongst the flame. 

He lowered his hand between her legs, his fingers finding her mound. She let out a gasp and pressed herself against him. She could tell that he was close to finishing. Her own walls tightened around him, ready to give in to the sweet pressure. His cock throbbed, filling her with his seed. She gripped him tightly, wanting to take as much of him as she could. She cursed into his neck as as her own climax washed over her body, bidding her to dig her nails into his back. 

They caught their breaths for some time, looking into each other . Dany could feel him soften inside her, but she did not let him pull away. She pushed both of them down so that they both laid flat on her bed. Jon kissed her gently, making her smile. He allowed himself to grin back, his brooding face now young and handsome. He flipped her over, pressing small kisses on her neck while massaging her breasts lovingly. Eventually, he sighed and pulled away. She took off her ripped shift and threw it on the bed behind her. He stood to lace his breeches, watching her enter the still steaming tub. She closed her eyes lazily, welcoming the hot water after days of riding out in the open. 

“My sisters are expecting me.”

Her eyes fluttered open to find him crouched next to the tub. The raven curls littered his face, his smile soft and sweet. The scars and beard made him look older, but he looked a green boy of summer when they were together. 

“Will you come back to me?” she knew he wanted to spend time with his family, but she couldn’t help herself. She had grown used to him keeping her warm at night.

He hesitated, “I’ll come back, after dark, if thats alright.”

She nodded. Dany wanted to keep him at her side, but she would never deny him seeing his loved ones. “Of course.”

Jon cupped her cheek and pressed a goodnight kiss on her lips before leaving. Daenerys cleaned herself in the tub until her skin was pink and raw. When she felt the water grow cold, she rose out and dressed herself for sleep. She ate the supper left for her, thinking longingly for the fresh fruit that she ate in Mereen. Her mouth watered, but her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on her door. She had barely allowed her entrance when the floor flew open and a Northern handmaiden rushed inside. 

“Forgive me, your Grace, but a raven has arrived. Your men request your presence, if you please,” she announced.

Daenerys bid the girl to dress her. She stepped into her boots and followed the girl into the castle, along with her unsullied guards. They reached a study, where her small council gathered around a table. Missandei and Grey Worm exchanged knowing looks. Tyron pursed his lips. The door behind her opened again, and the King in the North entered. Behind him were his two sisters, Ser Davos, and a fat man transporting a boy around a wooden chair. 

“Ser Jorah Mormont,” the fat man besides Jon called, “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

Her eyes shifted to Ser Jorah, but it was Jon who spoke, “Your Grace this is my friend, Samwell Tarly. He is a brother of the Nights Watch. He has come to help in the fight against the dead.”

“He was the one that cured me from the Greyscale, Your Grace,” said Mormont, “Were it not for him, I’d be under the dirt by now.”

Samwell Tarly. She had burned his father and brother alive at the Blackwater Rush. She exchanged a dark look with Tyrion and turned her attention to the man. He doesn’t know, she realized. He looked far too warm towards her to know she murdered his family. She took a deep breath before answering.

“I am in your debt, my Lord. Anything you need ask of me, I will do my best to grant it.”

“Oh, well, thank you, Your Grace, but I’m not really a Lord. I gave up my titles when I joined the Night’s Watch,” Samwell said. 

Daenerys nodded in acknowledgment and turned to Varys, “I was told a raven came for me?"

Tyrion handed her a small piece of parchment. She read the message twice, unsure of its contents. When she finally took in the meaning, she sat at the head of the table and poured herself some blackberry wine, thinking it over. Jon’s party took seats around the table as well.

“Is that word from Cersei’s forces?” Jon asked.

“No, there is still no word of the Lannister army,” Tyrion replied.

“It was a message from Mereen,” Dany said, sipping her wine.

“The second sons have left residence of the city and are sailing here. It seems their commander has gotten word of the army of the dead and has taken it upon himself to join us in the fight,”explained Varys.

“Well thats good, isn’t it? More men to join our cause,” Sansa asked Tyrion.

“I ordered Daario to guard the city for me before I left. He disregarded my orders and put Mereen at risk,” Daenerys hissed angrily.

“I thought the Second Sons were a group of missionaries in Essos,” reflected Arya, “Why would a missionary group leave their post to come here if no one is paying them?”

Sansa turned sharply, “Perhaps someone is paying them. Perhaps Cersei has bought their loyalty and ordered them to fight against us.”

“No, the commander to the Second Sons is without a doubt loyal to Queen Daenerys’ cause,” Tyrion clarified. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Dany could feel Jon’s eyes starring her way. Tyrion went on, “Aside from that, my sister has accepted a truce in order to fight the dead. Her armies will walk through Winterfell any day now."

“Cersei would never do that, you know she wouldn’t. She would rather die in at the hands of the Night King than cease trying to kill us,” Sansa urged Tyrion.

“We made her see reason when we traveled South with a dead soldier,” explained Jon.

“No, I don't think so” Arya Stark said. She edged closer to the table, scrutinizing Tyrion. “She didn’t agree to give us her armies because of that did she, Imp?”

“Arya,” Sansa warned. Daenerys was taken aback of how distant the youngest Stark girl sounded.

“So why did she agree to the truce?” Arya continued, “What do you know that we don't? You’re keeping something from your Queen.”

Tyrion looked down, avoiding Dany’s gaze. Jon’s face hardened, he looked troubled. 

“I was going to tell you, your Grace, after we defeat the dead,” Tyrion said carefully. 

Daenerys' tone was like cold steel, “You were going to tell me what exactly?” He fixed his gaze on her eyes.

“My sister is with child. Its the reason why she chose to stand down, in hope that should she lose the war, you would spare her babe.”

She stood sharply from her chair. The implications of the pregnancy were clear. Cersei would have an heir to threaten the Targaryen claim even after she took the throne, even if it was an inbred Lannister bastard.

“And you promised her my mercy? Without consulting me? Perhaps you would flee with the child yourself and raise it in hopes to put a crown on its head,” She presumed. 

Tyrion stood as well, but the effect wasn’t as powerful. “You know I would never betray your claim. I was merely looking out for the wellbeing of my unborn nephew.”

“A Lannister child,” Arya spat, “Perhaps I’ll carve it out for her, in return for killing my father.”

The words rang familiar in her head. She remembered Viserys in his last moments, threatening to carve out her child and give it to Khal Drogo. She felt repulsed at the memory.

“Cersei’s child didn’t kill our father,” Jon said sharply, “We are no better than her if we butcher a babe.”

“Your Grace,” Jorah Mormont said, “This child is not King Robert’s. His threat to your claim is feeble at best. I suggest we raise it as your ward.”

“Theon Greyjoy was raised as a ward,” Arya reminded them, “He betrayed the North.”

“Theon has paid for his crimes. He’s proven loyal to us again,” Sansa said.

“We shouldn’t tremble at the sight of an unborn child,” an eerie voice said. Dany turned to see Brandon Stark starring emptily at her. “Father told that to King Robert, when he asked to send assassins after your child.”

Daenerys felt unsettled by him, but she couldn’t understand why. He wheeled closer to her and looked up at Ser Jorah, “You were the one that got word to the Red Keep about Daenerys’ pregnancy. King Robert sent assassins to murder her, he was afraid she would sail the narrow sea and take the Iron Throne.”

Jorah flinched at his words. Daenerys didn’t know how he could possibly know that. Perhaps he had spies? Lord Tyrion jumped to Jorah’s defense. "Ser Jorah has paid for his past crimes,” he said. Bran paid no attention to him.

“Rhaego would lead the Dothraki through the narrow sea,” Bran went on, “But he was only a babe, and Robert wanted him dead. Is that what you want for this Lannister child?”

Dany felt uncomfortable at his words, exposing her story for the men in the room. She shook her head, “No, I’m not Robert,” She softened her tone towards Tyrion, “Your nephew or niece will be safe under my rule. I promise you.”

Their eyes turned to Arya. She sighed, “I won’t go after the Lannister baby, but I will kill Cersei.”

She stood up and bowed to Daenerys before leaving abruptly. Tyrion and Sansa’s eyes met. She wondered how they knew each other. Lady Sansa stood up as well.

“If I may be excused as well, Your Grace, it has been a long day,” she said.

“Of course,” she said, “We will deal with the Second Sons and their commander when they arrive. It has been a long day, we should get some rest.”

Everyone scrambled out of their chairs and left the room except Dany and Jon. They stood on either end of the table, looking at one another. When the sound of footsteps died out, Jon made his way towards her and offered her his arm. They walked back to her room, unseen by everyone save the unsullied guards. After the door locked behind them, Dany took off her dress and crawled inside the covers. Jon sat at the edge of the bed. She snuggled closer to him.

“Jorah betrayed you,” he said, “but you still trust him?”

Dany nodded sadly. Jon breathed out but didn’t press her further. She felt grateful for that, a rush of affection flooding her. She knew he was thinking about what Bran said.

“The women said my son would be the stallion that mounts the world,” Dany began, “but he was taken from me by dark magic. I-“

Her voice broke. Jon pressed Dany closer to him, wrapping her in his arms. He trailed circled on her skin with his thumb. She continued; He needed to know. “I gave up his life to save my husband. The witch promised me that she wouldn’t let Drogo die, and he lived.”

His breath caught, not daring to ask. She pressed on, “He didn’t come back like you did. He wasn’t himself after, he didn’t move or speak. I was the one to end his pain.” 

Dany buried her face under his chin and brought her arms around him. She blinked back tears and curled her knees so that she was sitting on his lap. After a while, she felt sleep pulling her in when his voice broke her trance.

“I broke my vows to the Night’s Watch. I laid with a wilding girl beyond the wall. When I came back to the wall, we fought on opposite sides at Castle Black. An arrow went through her heart. I burned her body to make sure she didn’t come back.”

She tightened her grip around him. She could hear the sadness in his voice. He must have loved her, she thought, just like she loved Khal Drogo. But they were both gone. Jon kissed the top of her head reassuringly, as if he knew what she was thinking. His lips lingered on her hair, breathing in her scent. She didn’t think she’d ever want Jon to leave the warmth of her bed. For the first time since walking into the burning pyre, she wanted something other than the Iron Throne.


	4. ARYA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya approaches the dragons. Sansa and Jon discuss their house's future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L(O)(O)K HERE > > > > > Hi guys! Please comment down below any scenarios or chats you want to see in the future. If i find them plausible in the story, I will add them. I won't judge any JONSA shippers but just know I'm really not about that.

ARYA

Arya stood at the remains of a small tower at the back of Winterfell. The tower’s walls were blackened by fire during the Greyjoy residence, and the hollows meant for windows were empty, letting the biting cold in. No one would occupy the room due to its cold, but Arya came often to watch the people below. It was tall enough to see the Godswood and Winter Town. It also gave her a clear view of the army camps. There weren’t enough rooms in Winterfell to house the Stark Bannermen, the liege Lords, the Targaryen party and all of their soldiers. The big majority of soldiers had to make camp out in the winter cold. 

She was amused to see the way the men had divided themselves amongst the field. Arya knew the Northmen thought lowly of the Unsullied, for they were eunuchs. But the Unsullied were quiet and unproblematic, unlike the Dothraki screamers, who were so resentful of the arctic winds that they would seek to fight anyone who irritated them. The Northmen had raised their tents closest to the castle. The Dothraki had camped quite far from the Stark army. The Unsullied divided the two camps with rows of neatly placed tents. 

Although both the Dothraki and Unsullied were given tents of scarlet and black, Targaryen colors, Arya could make out which camp belonged to whom. The Dothraki encampment was littered with campfires, horses, and disarrayed tents lined with animal furs. When she caught sight of them, they were draped in clothing of straw, leather, and fur. Some of them wore Lannister armor, clear spoils of victory in battle. She had heard rumors that the Dothraki made love in the open. But the rumors were either untrue or the screamers weren’t keen on copulating out in the snow. The Unsullied rarely left their campsite unless they were ordered to. Arya had heard the Northern men laughing about the few Unsullied who went to brothels. She wondered why a castrated man would visit the whorehouses, but didn’t dwell on it too much. 

Arya looked behind through a different window. Wings beating against wind filled the air. She saw the dragons coming back from their hunt, and make their way into the Godswood. The few Lords that still prayed to the Old Gods have stopped going there, in fear of the beasts. Arya knew better than to believe in her father’s Gods, but she made her way into the Godswood all the same. When she had been a child, she found herself scared of men with broad swords, murderous giants, and faeries that were said to eat wayward children. Ever since she carved the waif’s face and sailed from Essos, she had stopped fearing men and monsters. But she could feel her heart at her throat as she neared the Godswood. 

She advanced slowly to the Weirwood tree, watching for any sign of the dragons. She finally spotted them gobbling down an animal carcass at the entrance of the forrest. She took a seat on the thick white roots of the Weirwood tree, watching them from afar. The smaller green one breathed out fire, setting the carcass aflame. The dragons ripped it in two parts, greedily taking their parts away from one another. 

She heard the crunching of leaves being stepped on, and deftly stood up, drew her sword, and turned around. A few paces from her was Daenerys Targaryen, freezing at the sight of her. 

“Your Grace,” Arya said, sheathing Needle in apology.

“I’m sorry to startled you, Lady Arya. I felt my children’s presence near and I wanted to spend some time with them,” She explained.

“Of course, Your Grace, I’ll leave you to it,” she said, taking some steps towards the castle, “Though I’m not truly a Lady, though my sister is Lady of Winterfell.”

Daenerys sat at the Weirwood root and gestured to her, “Please, sit down, I don’t want to disrupt you at your own home.”

She hesitated, but glanced back at the dragons. The noise had made them forget their food, they edged closer to their mother. Arya sat at the end of the root, distancing herself respectfully from the Queen. She watched in awe as the Giant dragons closed the gap between them and settled on the ground closest to Daenerys. The biggest one studied Arya for a second, but must have decided she was no threat, for he laid down. His head was as big as the Queen herself. 

Arya held her breath as Daenerys reached out her pale hand to stroke the snout of the green dragon. Arya was reminded of the stories she favored as a child, the ones of Targaryen Queens and their dragons. Daenerys didn’t look like armor-clad the warrior Arya had pictured. She was beautiful, with long silver hair and Targaryen eyes, but she looked more or less like Sansa, wearing pretty dresses and intricate braids. But Sansa would never descend from the sky on the back of a dragon the way Daenerys had. The Queen turned to face her again.

“When I first arrived, you spoke to me in High Valyrian. How is it that you have come to know the tongue of the east?” Her tone was praiseful yet conversational. 

Arya regarded her for a moment, “I can’t speak it, not truly. I learned a bit when I traveled the Ports of Braavos.”

Arya could see the questions forming in the Queen’s eyes, but she did not voice them. She turned her attention back to her dragon. 

“I expect you must have traveled a lot before coming to Winterfell,” Daenerys added. 

“I heard stories about you when I lived in Braavos. They say you took Yunkai and Astapor and freed their slaves,” She said, “But you came here with their armies.”

Arya didn’t like the formalities of being a Lady, but she knew she must have offended the Queen somewhat. 

Daenerys turned sharply, but kept her tone even, “The Unsullied are free men. They followed me here on their own free will.”

She was telling the truth, Arya would tell. She knew she shouldn’t press her luck, but she was curious. 

“Why do the Dothraki follow you?” She made her voice sound more formal, “Your Grace.”

Daenerys smiled at a distant memory, her eyes flashed with flames for a second. Arya was reminded of the Targaryen words: Fire and Blood.

“The Dothraki are Horse lords, they say a Khal that cannot ride is no Khal. I am their Khaleesi, I have pledged myself to protect them and ride my dragons to battle at their side,” she said. Her voice rang with pride.

Arya felt increased respect for her. She could sense the untold truth behind her words. “And you put an end to those that tried to stop you?”

The Silver Queen was not remorseful, “I did.”

Arya chuckled, starring at the dragons, “I’m glad you understand what it takes to keep your people safe. If it were up to Jon, he would do anything to keep the peace.”

“It’s true, the King is merciful, but he would do whatever it took to keep his family safe.”

Arya tore her gaze from the dragons, surprised to hear an unexpected affection in her voice. She kept talking as if she hadn't noticed.

“Jon is a good King. He was always my favorite brother growing up. He was the one that gave me my sword,” She unsheathed needle again and offered it to the Queen. Daenerys’ smiled sweetly at the sword, turning it delicately in her hands. It struck Arya that Jon was the kind of man girls swooned for, powerful, kind and handsome. But Daenerys wasn’t swooning like a stupid girl. She gave Needle back, and Arya couldn’t help but approve of her. She rose to her feet. 

“I better go back inside, Your Grace. It was a pleasure keeping your company,” She said in honesty, smiling. 

Daenerys smiled in returned, “Thank you for your hospitality. I will join you in supper later this evening.”

She bowed like a knight, reserving the courtliness for people that deserved her respect, and made her way back inside the castle. She crossed as quietly as she could, trying to avoid unwanted attention. She climbed a set of stairs into a hall that led to her father’s study. Arya frowned, it was Sansa’s study now. She was nearly there when a flash of raw skin peeked from the corner of one of the windows. Arya did a double take, thinking she must have saw wrong.

Outside in the courtyard was Tyrion Lannister speaking with Sandor Clegane. She fumbled at her belt for her knife, gripping the luxurious handle. She thought about what the waif had said when they played the game of faces. Arya had the opportunity to kill him before, she didn’t truly want him dead. She had taken his name off her list some time during their travels. She let her grip loose off the knife. She would speak with him, she decided, soon enough. She turned to open the door to her father’s study. Surely enough, Sansa sat there consulting with a maester and writing something down . They stopped conversing and looked up. 

“Lady Arya,” the maester said, bowing. She hadn’t bothered to remember his name. 

“Could you please give my sister and I some privacy?” She asked. 

He bowed once again and shut the door behind them. 

Sansa sighed, “Its not polite to barge in without knocking.”

Arya ignored her, sitting across from her and taking a handful of grapes from the bowl at her side. 

“I saw Sandor Clegane talking to the imp outside. I thought I left him for dead,” she said casually, throwing a grape into her mouth. 

“Don’t call him that, he hates that nickname,” Sansa imposed, “When did you leave the hound for dead?”

Arya didn’t trust any Lannister, but she made a mental note not to call him "Imp" in public, respecting her sister’s judgement. She remembered the hound mentioning Sansa once. 

“Brienne of Tarth found us, when we were traveling the vale. He wouldn’t let me go with her, said that she was sent by the Lannisters. She beat him, but she couldn’t find me. I found him afterwards in his own blood. Then I left for Braavos.”

Sansa listened intently. It was the first time Arya had said anything of her journey since talking about her training with the faceless men. 

“The Hound isn’t the gallant knight from the songs, but he offered to help me,” Sansa recalled, “I was stupid not to go with him. I wouldn’t have been sold to Ramsey.”

“We can’t dwell on the past too much. If you hadn’t been sold to Ramsey then we wouldn’t have taken Winterfell back,” she said softly.

Sansa considered it, “No, maybe we wouldn’t.”

Arya thought back of her time in Braavos, “There was an acting company in Essos. They put on plays about the Lannisters,” she said, “About us.”

Sansa was surprised, so she went on.

“The girl that played your part wanted the main actress dead. It was my job to kill her, but I couldn’t do it. She died in the end, though. But I went everyday to watch their plays. My favorite part was seeing Joffrey die.”

Her sister smiled sadly, “That was a good day. I was sorry to hear they blamed me and Tyrion. It was Lord Baelish who had Joffrey killed.”

Sansa had not mentioned Littlefinger since the day of his death. Arya chuckled, “At least he did something good for the world.”

They both snickered at Joffrey’s death. Arya felt a strange closeness for her sister. Someone rapped on the door, startling them back to the present. Sansa called in entry and Jon came through the door. He smiled broadly when he saw them. Ghost trailed behind him, and sat in front of Arya’s knees, prompting her to pet him. She thought back of Nymeria. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you two get along since Arya was a babe,” he remarked. 

Sansa grinned, “Thats because Arya couldn’t talk then.”

Jon grinned back and sat next to Arya. “I’ve heard what you did, planning to feed our men with the granaries. Thank you for looking out for the North.” 

Sansa nodded, Jon continued, “I came to tell you that Daenerys has agreed to send food North from the Reach. In the mean time, we are to feed her soldiers with our own reserves.”

The smile left Sansa’s face. She turned back to her paperwork, “So our Queen sees fit that we should eat?”

Jon let out a frustrated breath, “Yes, she does. I know you’re not happy that I bent the knee to her, but she is the best chance we have if we’re going to survive all of whats to come. We’re going to survive this together”

Sansa didn’t look up, but a dark look crossed her face. Jon went on, trying to convince her.

“Daenerys isn’t Cersei. She will be a far better Queen to the North that I ever could have been.”

“Thats not true,” Sansa argued, “You’re a good King, even if you don’t like ruling. The North is yours because the people know you will lead honorably. We don’t know this Queen, I’ve heard she burned her enemies alive, just like her father. I want to believe you, but I used to think Joffrey would be a good King, and he had his King’s guard strike me when I spoke out of line.”

Jon’s eyebrows creased, he reached out to hold Sansa’s hands. He looked tenderly at both of them before speaking.

“I won’t let anyone harm either of you, or Bran. So long as we stand together, no one will take you from me, not even Daenerys.”

Arya scratched the back of Ghost’s ears. “Are you going to marry her?” She asked him.

Jon flushed red in surprise, but he laughed softly before answering. “Why would you think that?”

“I spoke with her today,” she said slowly, watching his reaction.

“Did she say she wanted to marry Jon?” Sansa said in shock.

“No,” she answered truthfully, “but I think she might want to.”

His mouth twitched up, his eyes wrinkling. He looked down to pet Ghost for a moment before answering. 

“I don’t know,” he said. His smile faltered when he saw the horrible look on Sansa’s face. On another lifetime, Arya would have laughed.

“Would that be so bad?” Jon asked. He sounded tired, she noticed. He sounded almost like their father.

Sansa sat in silence, curling her red hair around her finger. After a bit, she sighed.

“I don’t know. I just don’t trust her,” she looked up, “But I trust you. I will back your decision to bend the knee, and I will defend your reasons at court.”

“Thank you. You don’t have to worry about Daenerys, she will be a good Queen,” he reassured her.

He stood up and left, taking Ghost with him. Arya turned to her sister.

“He likes her a lot,” she said, “But I think she likes him too.”

Sansa’s blue eyes looked back at her with years of misery “Thats what I'm afraid of.”


	5. TYRION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion stays loyal to Daenerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was made not only to move the story along, but to put some characters in a different light :)
> 
> Let me know what you liked/disliked about it!

TYRION

Darkness surrounded him. He couldn’t see or hear anything for days, weeks and months. He felt paralyzed by freezing snow, covering every inch of his body. He could not free himself from the snow. Miserably, he thought of death. When finally he felt the snow around him melting and seeing a bright flame. He spotted the face of a dragon opening its snout to breathe fire. He breathed in the flames. Where moments ago he was ice, now he was fire. He waited for the burning pains to stop and he saw Daenerys crouched on the snow in front of her. He begged for her to help him, to stop the fire, but she just shook her head. Then the ice below his feet shattered and he fell into the icy depths of a pool, where a green lion swam above like a shark to eat him. He tried to swim away but the lion reached him.

His vision stopped, and he was in the darkness again. He opened his eyes. He was in his childhood room in Castlerly Rock. He was laying down on his own red and gold bed. Just as he looked at the lions embroiled into the canopy, a voice joined his thought.

“My lion,” he heard behind him. 

Tyrion turned around to see Sansa Stark standing in front of him. She smiled softly and drew nearer. With a jolt, he realized she was wearing a fabric so sheer that it barely covered her body, her nipples causing noticeable folds in the cloth. He looked away, worried about her modesty. He felt heat between his legs.

“My Lady, you are indecent,” he heard himself say.

He heard her giggle. She placed both of her hands on the sides of his head and pressed a warm kiss on his lips. He brought her down to lay with with, and she pressed her body closer to his. He saw that he was naked under the furs, and his manhood was growing. The room was no longer, the void was only filled with a bed that stretched until the edge of the world. And Sansa, no longer a sweet child, but a woman. His wife.

Sansa took off the thin cloth covering her chest. Her breast was at his face, her hands on his shoulders. “My Lion,” she repeated. He laid her on her back and caressed her red hair. She smiled, running her pale hands along his stomach. He pressed his hard member against her belly, making her laugh. He crawled lower, kissing and kneading her beasts. Enjoying the sweet flavor of her nipple inside his mouth. She gasped and dug her hands into his hair, which was now immaculately gold. 

Her legs wrapped themselves around him, begging him to enter her. But he enjoyed teasing her. He didn’t want the moment to end, no matter how much his own length was longing to go inside her. He pressed his fingers on her mound, pressing rough circles on it until she grew wet. Sansa pushed herself forward and kissed him urgently. Her blue eyes met his, no longer smiling, but looking at him lovingly. He could bear it no longer. He entered her. He thrust himself in and out gently until Sansa started to grind on him, and he quickened his pace. He kissed her neck, her teats, and her stomach. Finally, he held on to her arse and filled her with his climax. She brought his face to meet his again and kissed him over and over. Her blue eyes scanned his face for a lifetime, until she whispered.

“My lion." 

Tyrion sat up on the bed at Winterfell, covered in cold sweat. he felt a hot surge of shame on his chest. He had been married to Sansa, that much was true, but she was not his to think about in provocative ways. He had been so surprised when he saw her, no longer the complacent girl he had come to know. She was more beautiful than he remembered, woman grown, and iron willed. He tried to remember the last time he laid with any woman; There had been none since Shae. The Gods had cruel ways of bidding their will, he thought, for he hadn’t laid with another woman since he made his vows to Sansa. He shook the thought out of his head. 

He buried his face on his hands and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had grown used to his beard, but he considered trimming it that morning, before meeting the Northern lords. Then he remembered the frosty winds of winter, and decided his beard would come useful. He took off the covers of his bed, exposing his body to the icy air. The fire had gone out in his room, and no maid came to check it. Annoyed, he dressed quickly, noticing the emptiness in his stomach. He had left supper earlier the evening before, not enjoying the sullen looks thrown at his direction by the Northerners.

He also felt a bitter pit in his stomach when he saw the exchanges between his Queen and Jon Snow. Love was a dangerous thing, he reflected darkly, years of pain had taught him that. Love was his brother’s jests, his niece and nephew’s innocent laughter, his hands pulling at the chain of his lover’s neck until she was dead. He thought of the few smiles he got from Sansa at King’s Landing, and his throat tightened. Forgetting food, he sought out some wine. Jamie hated him, Tommen and Myrcella were dead, and Shae had tried to assure his death. 

Tyrion grabbed the wine bottle that had been left in his room, to find it empty. He banged it down angrily and left the cold room to distract himself. Jon Snow had given him permission to use the Stark libraries. Tyrion had been very grateful, because he seemed to spent most of his time there. He remembered thinking of the last time he had been North, and remembered spending his time in the Winter town whorehouse. But the hand of the Queen could not spend all his time in brothels, he reasoned. 

He entered the library and settled himself on the table closest to the fire. He ordered a maid to bring him some food, not caring of the scandalized looks from the nearby Maester. He drilled through books, looking for tales of the long night and the white walkers. After hours of unfruitful searching, he slammed the current book tight. The noise startled the man near him. It was Samwell Tarly, he recognized. He made a point of telling his Queen to break of the Tarlys deaths. He stood to greet the man.

“I haven’t found any interesting tales in any of those books,” He began, “Perhaps we ought to start replacing the Maesters with wet nurses."

Samwell laughed nervously, “I traveled to the Citadel to learn how to be a Maester, but I didn’t find anything interesting either.”

A good start, Tyrion thought. He sat at the seat in front of Tarly. 

“I’m Tyrion Lannister,” he said offering his hand. The man shook it briefly.

“You’re the Queen’s hand,” he noted lamely.

“I am. You joined the Night’s Watch with the King in the North?” Tyrion asked.

“Yes, me and Jon- I mean, his Grace,” he stammered, “We were brothers of the Night’s Watch. He’s saved our lives more times than I can count.”

Tyrion nodded, “He’s a good man, the King. I’m glad to finally see some good monarchs in my lifetime, considering all the shit ones I’ve met.”

They talked about men and politics for a brief time. It was dull, but it was the best company Tyrion had kept since coming North. Their talks changed into plans for battle, and theories on how to defeat the White Walkers. Tyrion’s food arrived, which he ate eagerly. Samwell told him all his knowledge about the dead. They were running low on things to discuss when a tall figure entered the library. 

“My lord,” Sansa said to Samwell, “I’m sorry to disrupt the greatest minds of the Kingdom, but I’m afraid I need a word with Lord Tyrion.”

Tyrion focused to slow his heart, remembering the perverted way he had dreamt of Sansa. Samwell conceded and allowed them to walk away together. Tyrion walked the halls with her by his side, thinking of the times they strolled the gardens of the Red Keep. Sansa broke the silence.

“I need to speak with you, Tyrion,” She said.

“Yes, I could gather that much myself,” he joked. 

The ghost of a smile played on her lips, “Jon has decided to tell the lords of the North that he yielded the North to your Queen.”

The punctured the last word with steel. Tyrion couldn’t help but to smile at her.

“You don’t agree with his decision, and you don’t trust her. Not that I can blame you, of course. Anyone who has had the misfortune of meeting my sister has had enough of Queens for their lifetimes. I don’t think there is a person in the Seven Kingdoms was more entitled to mistrust than you, Lady Sansa.”

She kept in quiet agreement for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“I love my brother, I esteem him as my King, but I think he’s biased,” she finally said, stopping at the edge of the castle wall to watch the distant snows. 

“You think that perhaps Daenerys seduced him enough to gain his allegiance, is that it?” He said.

Sansa hesitated. Tyrion knew her to be a woman of courtesies and praise. She had never dared to speak ill of someone at King’s Landing. She fixed her gaze on him, cautiously contemplating his motives.

“I considered it,” she admitted, “But I know Jon must believe her to be a good ruler, he wouldn’t let her into our home unless he thought otherwise. But I fear his judgement is clouded. I’m telling you this because its not Jon’s judgement I trust, its yours.”

The dwarf was stunned, “My judgement?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Lord Tyrion, not anymore. I don’t know your Queen, and I don’t have faith that she will keep the realm at peace, that she will keep us safe. But, I know you. You saw Joffrey for what he was, you saw through all of them and their lies. I don’t believe you would support her if she was anything like them.”

Tyrion was deeply stirred by her truth. It took him a moment to regain his thoughts; He hummed in agreement.

“I don’t think I’m quite deserving of your praise, but you’re right. Your brother and I have faith in her, rightly so. Daenerys can surprise you,” he voiced.

“Hardly anything surprises me anymore,” She said. Her voice was so full of hardship, that he felt the pit of his stomach ache. Tyrion had suffered on his own right, but he had many things coming for him. Sansa didn’t deserve anything that had happened to her.

“Do you remember the message I sent your brother, when I invited him to Dragonstone?” He asked, “I told you Daenerys had large armies and dragons. Dragons, might I mention, she considers her own children.”

“Yes, I saw them fly over the castle,” she granted.

“In my message, I mentioned three of them. You’ve only seen two. Haven’t you wondered what happened to the third one?” 

Sansa held her breath, shaking her head. He continued to make his point.

“Your brother and several men marched north of the wall to capture a deadman for my sister. A plan we all agreed, was necessary if we wanted to win this war. We got a message from the wall, many days later, imploring the Queen to fly north and rescue your brother and his men from the dead.”

Tyrion kept out the part where he advised the Queen against going, but he kept talking, “We didn’t know how long it had been since the message had arrived, your brother could have been dead for all we knew. But Daenerys flew north, knowingly risking her life and her legacy to try and find your brother somewhere beyond the wall.”

“and she found him,” Sansa breathed.

“The dead found them first. They came back sickly and dying, with half the men, and one less dragon. If that is not a Queen worth fighting for, then we’re all fucked,” he finished. 

Tyrion knew his work was done when he saw Sansa’s gaze soften. He thought of all the things he has seen and done during their time apart. He thought about the dreadful rumors he’d heard of Ramsey Bolton and his perversions. 

“You know, Lady Sansa,” He reflected, “If the world hadn’t gone to shit the way it did, perhaps we would have had a nice, quiet marriage.”

She chuckled; Her eyes met his once again, and his own distant words echoed back to him. I have a soft spot for cripples, bastards, and broken things, he had said.

“Then again,” he said to no one in particular, “We only did marry because the world had gone to shit.”

“It wasn’t my worst marriage,” she said finally.

“No, it wasn’t my worst marriage either,” he agreed. He never did tell her about his first marriage, but she didn’t ask for further explanation.

They made their way together to the great hall, where the northern lords were gathering to hear the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say I wasn't a Jonsa shipper ohohohoho


	6. BRIENNE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne watches out for Sansa's wellbeing. The King holds Court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do a lot of research on oaths and pledges to write the dialogue, but hopefully it stays true to the source! This one doesn't have Smut (sad I know!) but its far from boring and it does feature Jon/Dany and Tyrion/Sansa

BRIENNE

Brienne entered the hall with her squire, Podrick. They sat down amongst the high lords of the North. Many people entered, but Brienne’s attention was focused on Sansa, who had asked her for some privacy for a while. On her side, was Tyrion Lannister, telling what must have been a thrilling tale, for she was laughing. Brienne was glad to see Sansa happy, as she rarely smiled, but she couldn’t help to mistrust the dwarf. She remembered the day of Joffrey’s wedding, seeing Sansa sitting next to her lord Husband. Brienne thought that Sansa hated Lannisters, which is why she rarely brought up Ser Jaime. Yet, the lords watched as they walked into the high table, on either side of Jon and Daenerys. Although Sansa's companion was not unoticed by some of the lords, most of them had stopped chatting to watch their King sit side by side with the Queen. Brienne thought they sat far too close, but they must have realized this too, because they both edged away slightly. Podrick turned to her, seeing the odd interaction as well. She turned her thoughts back on the Lannisters. 

“Before you were my squire, you served Lord Tyrion, did you not?” she asked the lad.

“I did, my Lady,” he answered. He knew she didn’t like being called a lady, but they were at court, and Podrick was a proper squire. 

“Ser Jaime put you into my service because Lord Tyrion was charged with his nephew’s murder. Do you think he committed the crime?”

“No, my Lady” Podrick said, “Lord Tyrion is a good man. He hated the King, but I don’t believe he would try to kill him.”

“Was he kind to Sansa?” she asked under her breath.

Podrick paused before answering, “Yes, my Lady. I know he pleaded with Lord Tywin to not go through with the match. After they were married, Ser Bronn mentioned that my Lord had refused to consummate the marriage. Lord Tyrion had been going through some difficult times, but he always looked out for his wife’s health. After her brother and mother died, she didn’t speak to him for days on end, but my Lord was always understanding.”

Brienned nodded, thinking of Ser Jaime, as she watched the Northern lords glare at Lord Tyrion. Perhaps the Lannisters were the way they were because of the way the world spat on them. She pictured Jaime’s bloody stub, the way his scream had pierced through the night when he tried to protect her virtue from the Boltons. Perhaps Tyrion was a good man after all. 

The lords finished settling themselves amongst the hall. An unusual party sat at the high table. On the King’s left sat Sansa, Arya, Bran, Ser Davos Seaworth. On the Queen’s right sat her hand, Tyrion Lannister, a man she recognized as Varys the Spider, a dark man wearing Unsullied armor, a dark woman with strange brown hair, and a balding knight. 

The King stood up, ceasing all chatter. He crossed his table to stand in the middle of the Hall. Brienne knew what was coming, having heard it at the dragon pit. He had sworn allegiance to the Queen. She had sailed on a different ship than Jon Snow, but when they met at the King’s road, she heard the gossip about him and the Dragon Queen. She hadn’t dared believe them until she went out for a late night stroll and saw the King entering her tent. 

“My lords, my ladies, I’d like to properly introduce to you Daenerys Stormborn of the house Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and her trusted advisors, Lord Tyrion Lannister, the hand of the Queen, master of whispers, Lord Varys, Master of war, Grey Worm, Missandei of Naath, and Ser Jorah Mormont.”

Angry whispers filled the hall as each name was introduced. A couple of people sniggered at the mention of Grey Worm’s name, but they stopped abruptly at the glare from their King. Jon continued, acknowledging their rudeness.

“We are to treat them as our guests of honor. Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, has allowed us to take obsidian from her mines, agreed to hold the Southern war, and marched her armies and dragons North to aid us in our cause. Her support might be the only reason that we stand a chance against the army of the dead. It will be because of her that we might live through this winter,” he declared.

He paused, “In return, I have pledged myself to her cause, and swore my fealty to House Targaryen, until the end of time.”

His words caused the men to stir like wildfire. The old lord sitting in front of her stood up.

“You cannot ask us to bend the knee to the Mad King’s daughter. She, who brought savages and eunuchs across the narrow sea to take our lands,” said Ser Royce of the vale.

“We did not make you King in the North so that you could surrender our Kingdom to a foreign Queen! Any man too weak to hold his lands is no King of mine!” he cried out. The men rallied in unison.

“So you’re wishing now that you had chosen a different King,” a voice called out. Everyone looked at the high table, where Arya Stark had stood up as well. “Perhaps you want to call out for a new King, seeing as your loyalties are so weak. I didn’t take you for a traitor, my Lord,” she said.

The man paled, but faced her head on, “My Lady, the North cannot-“

“Do you know what happens to those who break faith with House Stark?” She demanded, “Would any of you like to join Lord Baelish’s fate, here in this very hall? or maybe you’d like the chance at battle, like the Boltons?” She softened her tone, “Or maybe you’d like to put a knife in our back like Walder Frey. Do you know what House Frey is now, my Lord? Would you like to know how I killed every one of those traitors?”

The hall was so quiet, that winds could be heard howling outside. Everyone had petrified at her words, suspended in meaning and implications. Brienne glanced at the King, and even he had turned to cold stone. Arya sat down again.

“Winter came for those who hurt House Stark,” she finished. 

The Lord turned to the King, choosing his words carefully, “I would only ask his Grace to remember the crimes of House Targaryen. Lord Eddard Stark fought in Robert’s rebellion himself. The North remembers.” he sat down, looking away. 

Jon Snow finally tore his gaze from his sister, regaining composure. He nodded at the lords, unsure of what to say. Tyrion Lannister spoke out.

“You say the North remembers, my lord. I hope you can keep your word. I hope the North remembers when the savages and eunuchs crossed the narrow sea for Daenerys Targaryen, to protect the north from the army of the dead,” he said. 

Sansa called out in agreement, “Winter is here, my lords. We must consolidate our forces if we are to survive.”

She faced Daenerys, “I know what you’ve done, your Grace. Whatever crimes your family committed in the past were forgotten the moment you saved my brother’s life. I’ve heard it say you lost one of your dragons to our common enemy. My family offers our deepest regrets for your loss,” she turned to the Northern lords, “The North will remember. House Stark is in her debt.”

Brienne’s stomach churned. What kind of demon was strong enough to kill a dragon?

“Thank you, Lady Stark,” Daenerys said. She stood up to face everyone in the hall, "I’ve been north of the wall. I’ve looked into the face of the White Walkers; I flew over their army, countless dead men, marching towards us all. I know you don’t think of me as your Queen, but I think of you as my people. Blood of my blood. We will fight what's coming, as one people. Northmen, Southerners, Wildings, Unsullied, Dothraki, Targaryens and Starks, we all fight for the living. I vow to defend you from the dead that march north, and from the evil that stirs south. I will protect you, now and always."

“Jon Snow,” Daenerys called, “Pledge me your fealty.” 

The King in the North moved forward, and removed his handsome blade from its sheath. The steel rippled through the air, stabbing the ground as he knelt before his own hall. Brienne let out her breath. The room was tense but silent. 

“Bear witness to my vow. I, Jon Snow, renounce my title as King of the North, in the sight of Gods and men. I swear my allegiance to your claim and to House Targaryen. I pledge to defend and care for the North, like my father before me, from this day, until the end of my days.” He rose to his feet. 

“And I, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of my Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby proclaim Jon Snow, from House Stark, Warden of the North.”

Jon sheathed his sword back into place. Daenerys sat down. The newly proclaimed Warden of the North marched to sit next to her. He looked around. 

“Now, that matter has been settled, we have more pressing things to discuss,” Jon said in finality, “My brother, Brandon Stark, says he has something important to tell us.”

“Yes, more than one important thing,” said the blank voice of Bran Stark. Brienne of Tarth was perturbed by the boy.

Samwell Tarly interrupted, “Bran, and, uh, your Grace, perhaps we would be wise to address one of these issues more privately.”

Bran looked over at Daenerys, “Which news should we address privately? they’re both quite important. The one about wall or the one about-”

“Your Grace, please!” Samwell urged, standing up, his cheeks pink, “Perhaps you ought to hear this matter in a small council chamber.”

Brienne was aware of the northern lords murmurs. They didn’t like having things hidden from them, but they were all troubled by young Brandon’s visions. Jon and Daenerys exchanged fearful looks, then Daenerys nodded. 

“Thank you for your suggestion, Lord Tarly. We will only discuss one of the pressing matters then, if you please.”

Bran raised his chin slightly, “The wall has fallen at Eastwatch, where the sea meets the land. The dead have begun to march south. They will reach The karhold in a fortnight.”

Podrick gasped and glanced back to her. The northmen broke out in cries of surprise. The people at the high table exchanged urgent whispers. Jon banged his fists on the table to keep the silence.

“Bran, I’ve climbed the wall before. Its too thick to-” he swallowed, “The wall is strong, it's been said to be fortified by magic and spells.”

“Yes,” Bran said, “The children of the forest told me as much. The Night King couldn’t have taken it down on his own. The dead used powerful magic as well. No regular fire could have caused that much destruction.”

Daenerys jerked up from her chair, her face taking a maddening look. “What kind of fire then?” She demanded.

“I’m really sorry,” Bran said. If he was, his tone didn’t reflect it. “I know you loved Viseryon like your own child.”

“No!” Gasped Jon. He turned back to Daenerys, who slumped back into her chair and gripped the edge of the table so fiercely that her knuckles shone white. She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath. Brienne was reminded of Catlyn Tully’s bravery, and thought that the Dragon Queen had more than a touch of it. Her face contorted, but she didn’t allow tears to fall, not in front of her men. 

“What is it? What’s happened?” Asked Ser Davos.

“It appears the Night King has gained control of a Dragon,” Tyrion said bitterly, glaring down at the table. 

The hall that had been so angry a few minutes ago was now shaking in fear and uncertainty. 

“My child!” Daenerys hissed in a tone that made the hairs on Brienne’s neck stand. “My child’s corpse is being used for murder.”

Brienne thought she saw Jon Snow edge towards her, but held himself back. His hand flew midair, then came back to his side.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her, “This is my fault. If we hadn’t-”

He stopped talking, unable to comfort her. She looked at him and shook her head. Brienne had never seen a woman so pent up in grief, not allowing herself to appear weak. She was reminded of Catlyn again. 

“We will put an end to the Night King, we’ll wipe out his army. We will burn every bit of their rotting flesh and bone until they are nothing but ash,” Jon assured her. She didn’t reply.

“How can we hope to defeat an undead army if they have a dragon?” A lord howled.

“We have two dragons, they only have one. Dragons can kill each other, we know as much from the Blackfyre rebellions,” answered another lord. 

Tyrion Lannister stood up, his face no longer composed, “You expect our Queen to engage in battle?”

“She just swore a vow to protect us,” he replied nastily, “If she really is our Queen, then she would at least take care of the mess she’s made!”

Sansa rose as well, “My Lord!”

The man’s face twitched, and he sat back down. Brienne was proud to serve a Lady of such strength.

“I’ll do it,” an icy voice called out. Daenerys had stood up again, “I will mount Drogon against Viseryon, when the time comes.”

Jon was unnerved; he stood up as well, “Your Grace-”

“No one else can do it,” she cut him off, “I’m the last dragon.”

“My Queen, it's too great a risk,” said the balding knight in the corner. Brienne was surprised to hear a northern accent.

“The consequences are far bigger than losing your legacy,” Tyrion disputed, “Which would be a loss at itself. The Dothraki and Unsullied won’t follow anyone else. Should your dragons die, the Night King will have control of three full grown dragons. We could never hope to defeat them, not even if the whole Seven Kingdoms joined the fight!”

“Then how do you propose to take down my child’s corpse?!” She pressed.

“I don’t know, your Grace, We can try to take it down with arrows or spears,” he implored, “When you faced my brother in battle, one of his men pierced Drogon with a giant crossbow. Perhaps we can fashion one as well. All I know is that you cannot be the one to lead this fight.”

“You’re not alone in this,” Jon Snow said softly, “We will find a way. Just not now.”

Queen Daenerys breathed out a deep sigh, blinked back tears, and clasped her hands together. She held herself tall.

Jon called out, “Thank you, for coming, my lords. We will hold court again tomorrow, to lay out strategies for the Karhold. A shipment of dragonglass was already sent yesterday to the castle. We will send a raven there and everywhere in between to warn them.”

Queen Daenerys strided forcefully away from the hall, the sound of her steps echoed by the Unsullied guards around her. The lords and ladies left the great hall gradually, murmuring solemnly to each other. Brienne waited for Lady Sansa to finish her conversation with her sister, Arya. Sansa shook her head in response to something and walked towards Brienne. Before exiting the room, Brienne caught Sansa looking back to Tyrion Lannister. The long night had come, she thought, Winter was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek! we're so close to the reveal! I think next chapter is going to be JON's POV. Let me know any scenes you want to see and I might add them. 
> 
> A L S O
> 
> I have not forgotten about the Second Sons / Jaime coming to Winterfell, so KEEP READING ohohoho


	7. JON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon puts his people's needs before his own. Daenerys makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovely readers, please comment down any scenes you might want featured in future chapters!!

JON

After leaving the Great Hall in the news of the undead dragon, Jon had a ball of the heaviest iron in his chest. As promised, he bid Maester Wolkan to send warning ravens to the Karhold and all the castles in between. The Dreadfort was unmanned, he realized, emptied from the Boltons who had previously lived in it. Sansa, being the widow of Ramsey Bolton, would have to assign a new family to the castle. Jon knew she would never take it for herself. Whatever marriages had taken place, she was still a Stark.

His thoughts kept running back to Daenerys, who would need his comfort now more than ever, but with a pang he made himself take care of the warfront first. Jon commanded a maid to bring Daenerys hot food and draw her a scalding bath, just as he knew she liked them. Miserable, Jon put his people’s needs before his own, or hers. He made his way to the Winterfell smithy with Ser Davos. It was the first time he had gone in since having Needle made for Arya, he realized.

“Yer Grace!” exclaimed the lead blacksmith, bowing, “We weren’t expecting you to come in today.”

Neither Jon or Davos bothered to correct him, the word would spread soon enough. 

“How is forging the Dragonglass into weapons going?” He asked.

“We’re working from dawn into the hour of the wolf, yer Grace,” he said, “We have finished all of these here.”

He pointed at a pile of spears, arrows, daggers, and swords with dragon glass tops. Jon looked around looking for more, the weight in his chest increasing, making his throat taut. He pictured the piercing blue eyes of the dead.

“Is this all we have?” Ser Davos said, voicing his own worries.

The lead smith looked troubled, “My men have been hammering daily, sometimes even refusing to eat or sleep until their work is done.”

Jon’s brows creased, he looked around and realized there were less than a dozen blacksmiths. 

“Where are the rest of the smiths?” he asked.

“We lost a lot of able men during the Greyjoy and Bolton mutiny. But I assure you, my men are more than able to handle a hammer through the night,” he announced.

Jon nodded politely, “I don’t doubt they can. Ser Davos, assemble any able smiths from Winter Town to come into the castle. Send ravens to all the nearby towns too.”

“I believe there are some soldiers that know the trade within the ranks, too. We ought to ask for any and all of them to step forward,” Ser Davos said, “Robert’s son, Gendry, is also a talented smith. I will call for him to ride from White Harbour too, he might be some use in designing the dragon crossbow.”

“Aye, thats a good plan. Scout the Unsullied and Dothraki forces with Ser Jorah, perhaps some of them are smiths.”

Ser Davos bowed his head and left at once. Jon gave his thanks to the lead blacksmith and made his way to the Queen’s room. The few Unsullied guarding her door nodded and moved aside from the door. He knocked on the door of the room that had once been Sansa’s. She called him in. 

He found her sitting far too close to the fireplace. Despite her red eyes and puffy cheeks, her couldn’t help but to admire her exotic comeliness. He had been so proud of her for maintaining a strong front to his banner men, even after the news of Viseryon. He closed the door behind him and sat in the chair next to her. He took her small hand into his calloused one, running his thumb on her skin. She didn’t look up.

“He was always the sweetest one,” she mused, “Even when people fled at the sight of him, when they thought him terrifying. I remember he would try to climb into my arms, after he was too big for me to hold his weight. He was too good for this world. I can still remember the way his little cream wings moved the day he hatched.”

Silent tears leaked from her eyes. Though Jon knew she had cried the day Viseryon died, he never actually saw her do it. His heart tugged at the sight, the iron ball in his chest turning to lead. 

“We will avenge his death,” he promised.

Daenerys kept staring into the flickering flames. 

“I deserve this. Its the Gods way of making me pay for all I’ve done,” she said dryly.

Anger boiled in his veins, “Daenerys, this isn’t your fault. Nothing you could have done-“

“I crucified the masters,” she continued, her voice shaking, “I’ve executed men who broke my laws. I killed the Great Khals who stood in my way.”

Jon took her hands into his and held them tightly, “Daenerys, we’ve all done things necessary to-“

“I watched my brother die. I stood there and watched as my husband poured melted gold on him. He begged me to save him, to make them stop,” she sobbed, “And I stood there and watched as his skin melted. Then I named my dragon after him and he died too.”

Jon had never see her lose control like that. Her shoulders shook with her quiet sobs. He stood up to hold her against his chest, letting her tears drip into his neck and shoulders. He grabbed on to her as if she might be taken from him at any moment, running his palm over her back. Daenerys pulled back and slowed her breathing. She took both of his hands into his.

She closed her eyes tightly, “I killed your friend’s family, the Tarlys. His father and brother, they stood for Cersei until the end, and I watched them burn alive.”

Jon's hands went numb, his throat tightened. He knew Sam didn’t have any lost love for his father, but he couldn’t help but feel that the news would affect him all the same. He bit his tongue, unsure of what to say. Daenerys finally opened her eyes to look at him. She looked older than he had ever seen her, worn with grief. She was beautiful, he thought. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked softly.

Daenerys shook her head, “Ever since my dragons hatched, all I’ve done is ask people to follow me and serve me. I’ve always thought I would be a good Queen, that the Iron Throne was mine by right. But I’m just another mad Targaryen, like my father. You took a knife in the heart for your people, you were born a bastard, yet your people chose you as a king. But still-“ she took a sharp breath, “You gave me the North. I don’t deserve you.”

Jon curled his arms around her and lifted her into his arms. She gasped slightly and wrapped her hands around his neck to balance herself. He hoisted her gently into the bed and rocked her in his arms. He seized her hair and moved it away, so he could bury his face in her neck. He pressed kisses under her ear, to her jaw, all through the length of her neck. She closed her eyes again, breathing heavily under his touch.

“You are a remarkable Queen,” he murmured in her ear, trying to put emphasis on the words, "Everything you’ve done, you’ve done to protect others, to protect yourself.”

He kissed the top of her head and held her tight, whispering all the good things she’s done. Reassuring her that she was a great woman.

“Winter is here, Daenerys, but we are the pack. When the long night comes, we will be ready to face it. We’ll face it together, remember?” He muttered.

Daenerys sat straighter, looking into his brown eyes, “We will.”

He kissed her lips softly and drew away, standing up, “Come, theres someone I’d like you to meet.”

Jon took her hand and led her out of her chambers. She commanded her Unsullied to stay behind, giving them the privacy they yearned for, but almost never had. They walked together, hand in hand, until they reached the outside, where he was forced to let her go for the sake of impressions. They walked in silence past the kennels, out to the Hunter’s Gate. The guards bowed to them, and opened the gates. They were no longer within the protection of the castle walls, but he was not worried. Jon wasn’t arrogant, but he knew he was skilled with sword. She reached for his hand again, looking out into the snowy forrest with curiosity. 

A small questioning smile formed on her lips, “Who could we possibly be meeting in the forrest?”

He brought her hand to his lips, “You’ll see.”

They walked further into the woods that he knew so well. He recalled his childhood, playing in the woods, hunting with his father and brothers. 

“I would come here with Robb when we were children, sometimes after dark. It was the only place we could play without Lady Catelyn’s knowledge,” he remembered. 

“She didn’t let you play with your own brother?” she asked. The ferocity he knew so well coming back to her voice. 

He smiled, “Not always, no. I’m a bastard. I’m the walking reminder that her husband lay with another woman.”

She squeezed his hand, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I loved my brothers, I learned to accept what I was. I wore it like armor,” He said, echoing Lord Tyrion’s words.

The trees were thick enough now that they couldn’t see the Castle, but Jon wasn’t lost. He stopped, letting go of her hand.

“We’re here,” he said, looking around to the trees.

They heard soft steps coming closer, Daenerys breathed out an icy breath, looking tense but not frightened. A pair of glowing red eyes came into view. A snowy white snout poked out of the trees, lips drawn back to show sharp fangs the size of knifes. Daenerys was closest to Ghost, watching with wide eyes as the snarling Direwolf came into full view. He was nearly the size of a horse. Daenerys held out a trembling hand, just as he had done with her Dragon. In all fairness, he thought, Ghost was less terrifying that Drogon. 

Ghost whimpered, and leapt too quickly for him to see. He pushed Jon back into the snow, crushing him with his weight.

“Jon!” she screamed.

He laughed heartily, as Ghost licked all over his face. She relaxed, but kept her distance. Jon sat up and embraced the wolf, fondling the folds of fur at its neck. Ghost panted happily at his master’s touch. They both stood up, turning to Daenerys. 

“Ghost, this is Daenerys,” he called.

The wolf lapped happily and sniffed her outstretched hand. She smiled down at him and stroked him behind his ears. The sight made Jon warm with affection, forgetting the lead weight that had filled his belly a few hours earlier. Ghost was nearly as tall as her, he noted, making him grin widely. Ghost licked her hand affectionately, a gesture he had only done to him or his family. They made their way back into the castle, the cold too much for her to bear. Ghost walked in between them, sticking out his tongue and wagging his large tail like a sort of monstrous house dog. 

“He’s gorgeous,” Daenerys said, “I never knew you had a wolf.”

“A Direwolf,” he corrected.

“The sigil of House Stark,” she thought out loud, he nodded.

They were the only two people in the world to befriend the beasts representing their house. Jon had Ghost, and she had her dragons. It was an odd thing to have in common, he thought to himself.

“All of us used to have one, but Ghost is the only one left,” he told her.

She frowned, but kept quiet. He regretted the comment, surely making her think of the death of her dragon again. Daenerys stroked the back of Ghost’s head the entire way. They walked in a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company. He didn’t want to break the moment, but they had to do their duty. When they reached the gate, he spoke.

“I don’t blame you for what you did to the Tarly’s,” he said quietly, “But perhaps we ought to tell Sam, today.”

Daenerys nodded grimly, “Will you come with me?”

“I will. Sam’s father always hated him, he told me as much himself, sent him to the wall to renounce his title as lord, but I can imagine the news might still come as a shock.”

They walked into a small study and bid a servant to summon Samwell. Daenerys sat behind a desk, petting Ghost anxiously. Jon stood a few paces away. The door opened, and Jon’s best friend came in. 

“Er, Hello,” Sam said to Daenerys. He looked up to Jon, “You wanted to speak to me?”

“Sit down, Sam,” Jon asked kindly. Sam sat in front of Daenerys, eyeing her and Jon curiously. 

“I- we- would like to tell you something, before you found out from anyone else,” she began formally.

Sam eyed her nervously, “Yes, alright.”

Jon spoke, “Your family declared for the Lannisters, they faced Daenerys and her armies in the field.”

Sam blinked at them.

“I hope you can understand,” she said, “I’m sorry, I truly am. After the battle ended, they remained loyal to Cersei. Your father even refused to take the Black when given the choice. They were executed.”

Sam remained still, looking down at his hands. Jon approached him and gripped his shoulder.

“Sam…” he said.

“Is…is my mother alright? My sister?” he asked in a high voice. 

“Yes, I suspect your mother and family are alive and well,” Daenerys replied.

Sam nodded, “Good. But my House will disappear?”

“Your sister can inherit the castle and rule the lands. Or I can release you from your vows of the Night’s Watch, and you can join them Your sons will rule after you.”

He began to laugh, his obese face going pink. Daenerys was startled, she looked back to Jon, unsure of what to do.

“Me? Lord Tarly?” he choked out, laughing, “My father would rather you burn down the whole of Horn Hill!”

Jon was surprised, his brows creasing, “Sam, are you alright?”

“Never been better,” he snickered, “Wait until I tell Gilly that little Sam will grow to be a Lord!”

Daenerys and Jon exchanged startled looks, but accepted the turn of events all the same.

Jon smiled, “I’m pleased to hear it.”

“With House Tyrell gone, we’ll need a new Warden of the Reach,” she said.

Sam chuckled nervously, “I don’t think I’d be fit to watch over the Reach, your Grace.”

“Let me know if you change your mind, my Lord,” She said, standing up, “You will be released of your vows and granted dominance over Horn Hill after the dead are dealt with.”

“Yes, alright,” Sam said excitedly, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

He smiled to Jon and left the room, leaving them alone again. She shook her head, unsure of the turn of events.

“Sam is a good man. He deserves to rule, its his birthright. I know he wanted to give Gilly and little Sam a good life,” Jon said.

Her eyebrows creased, and she cupped his face with her hand. Ghost whimpered softly, as if he understood her pain. Jon had hated the idea of having a child for most of his life. Indeed, it was one of the reasons why he took the Black, unable to bring himself to father a bastard. But watching Daenerys chastise herself for being barren had awoken a fruitless longing in him. At times, he caught himself hoping her seed would take when they laid together. He would never tell her that, of course, and would continue to pursue her to have only her. He put his own hand over the one she used to cup his face, and gave a gentle squeeze.

Someone knocked on the door, startling them apart. Jon was reminded of all his obligations, and the lead ball found its way to his chest again. He breathed out in frustration and opened the door. A young servant girl looked up shyly at him.

“Pardon, Your Grace, but a party of mercenaries has arrived at our gates. Their commander asks me to tell her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn, that Daario Naharis wishes to speak with her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OPEN THE GATES, we have a new man in town!!
> 
> Anyone disagree with the way I portrayed Sam? I'm curious, this is how I think he would react but idk what do you lot think?


	8. DANY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Second Sons arrive. The small council holds a meeting. Daenerys comforts Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KEEP READING TILL THE END FOR 18+ SMUT
> 
> As always, let me know what you thought!

DANY

Jon thanked the servant that had informed them of Daario’s arrival. He nodded at her with an unreadable expression and opened the door for her. They walked together through the courtyard until they reached the East Gate. Jon ordered the man to open the gates and a small party of men and their horses entered. The northern people were watching curiously. At the head of the party was Daario Naharis, wearing an unusual mix of his bulky leather armor and a thick cloak lined with fur. His face was flushed with cold, but as he saw her, a great grin settled into his bearded face. 

He unmounted his steed and made his way to her, kneeling in front of the snow and taking her hand. He kissed her hand and bowed his head low.

“My Queen,” he greeted, standing up, “You are a welcoming sight after dreary weeks of travel.”

“You could have saved yourself the dreary weeks of travel had you heeded my orders and stayed in Meeren with your men,” she said coldly.

Dario smiled despite himself. “Your beauty was worth the trouble, my Queen,” he replied heartily.

Daenerys heard snarling behind her, and turned to see Ghost making his way to them, crouched as if ready to pounce. Daario’s smile died. He sucked in a sharp breath that misted the arctic air. Daenerys did not smile, but she felt satisfied to see Daario fearful and far from his usual arrogance. Jon strutted forward too, scanning Daario carefully. Daario, still focused on the wolf, smiled nervously and reached out a hand as if to pet him. The wolf snapped it's teeth so close to his hand, Daenerys thought for a wild moment that his fangs had pierced the flesh. Daario inhaled sharply in surprise and took a step back.

“I don’t think its wise to approach a Direwolf like a common dog,” Jon stated.

Daenerys suppressed a grin, but replied to Jon, “Some would warn the same about dragons, my Lord.”

Jon’s lips twitched up, he nodded, “Yes, your Grace, honest mistake.”

“Foolish mistake,” She corrected, turning back to Daario, “Jon Snow, this is Daario Naharis. He commands the Second Sons in my name.”

Jon put one hand in Ghost’s head, as if to calm him down, and extended his other one towards Daario. In the brief moment the men shook hands, the direwolf growled. 

“Easy, boy,” Jon warned Ghost. The wolf seemed to glare at Daario, but he backed away.

“A pleasure to meet you, my Lord,” He answered back, “We have a lot of Northern bastards named Snow in the Second Sons.”

Dany’s nostrils flared, she was about to correct him, but Jon chuckled darkly, “Aye, my greatest achievement,” he turned to Daenerys kindly, “I will find your guest a room and make space for the Second Sons to camp, your Grace, if this is indeed what you wish.”

Daenerys bit her tongue, unsure. No one could deny that the north was in desperate need of fighters, but she resented him for traveling without her approval.

“How many men did you bring?” She asked steely.

“Almost all two-thousand. I left a party of 300 men with clear instructions on how to care for Meeren,” he said with self-satisfaction. 

Her heart quickened, she felt her blood alight with fire. “You left my city under the care of common sell swords?” She hissed.

“As did you, if I recall correctly,” he said, stepping forward.

“I left it under your care because I trusted you, and then you sailed here and broke that trust,” She spat. 

“I came here,” he raised his voice, “because there have been confirmed reports of only two dragons dwelling the land, Your Grace.”

He punctured the last two words with irritation. Her fists balled at her sides.

“So you left my people unguarded from the former masters to see if the rumors were true!”

“I don’t care about the people of Meeren,” he argued, “I care about protecting my Queen, which I plan to do so until I have a sword put through my heart.”

“Your Queen is safe here,” Tyrion called out.

She turned sharply, she had not heard him approach them. Jorah, Grey Worm, Sansa, Arya, and Ser Davos had approached the newcomers as well. Dany was suddenly aware of the prying eyes in the yard. She took a step back, balancing herself with Ghost. 

“Unsullied protect Daenerys Targaryen,” Grey Worm said to him. 

“I know you can, Torgo Nudho,” Daario acknowledged, “But any threat bad enough to take down a dragon will need all the help it can get.”

“So thats why you’re here? You think you can keep me safe?” Daenerys scoffed.

“I can do a better job than the Unsullied,” He snapped angrily, eyeing Jon, “Or your new pet dogs.”

Arya stepped in front of Daenerys and partially unsheathed her sword. At the sound, the Unsullied around Daenerys pointed their spears toward Daario, despite fighting alongside him for years. Ghost let out another dangerous growl.

“Watch who you’re speaking to,” She snarled.

“Put your sword away, Arya,” Jon commanded in a powerful voice. 

Daenerys was taken aback; She had rarely heard him use that voice. Jon was a gracious man, but the good man’s anger was the fiercest, she thought proudly. Despite the situation, she felt herself grow hot in between her thighs. Her belly roaring with lust. 

Arya moved aside, and Jon made his way closer to Daario, gripping the pommel of his sword in warning.

“I will not allow you to come into my home so you can insult me and my family,” He said in a low, mighty tone. "You want to serve your Queen? fine, but mind your place.” 

Daenerys’ belly purred in approval, her heart beating too fast, against her will. She saw Daario’s hand spasm near his arakh, the curved dothraki blade that she’s seen him put men to the ground with. He stepped back, his eyes running between Jon and her. 

“I’m sorry to cause offense, Lord Snow,” he said. She thought his tone was speckled with sarcasm, but he moved away all the same.

Jon’s face contorted, but he gave a curt nod and turned back to his men, “Bring any needed provisions to the Second Sons' camp and find their commander a suitable room.”

The men bowed to Jon, eyed Daario, and turned without another word. Jon motioned for his sisters to follow, and he disappeared inside the castle walls. Daenerys couldn’t help but to admire how handsome he looked when he wielded power. His attire, sword, and scars painting the look of a great warrior. 

She faced Daario again, “We will continue this later. I believe we have a war to plan.”

Dany walked purposefully through the doors Jon had entered, her advisors trailing behind. Daario followed, a few paces behind from the rest. His face was set hard; It was clear this isn’t how he pictured their meeting. Her Unsullied opened the set of doors leading to a big study, where a full map of Westeros masked the length of a large wooden table. Brandon Stark gazed at the fireplace in the room, his eyes rolled back to their whites, making her suppress a shudder. He didn’t look up when they entered. 

Jon began to place the sigils representing the noble Houses on the spot marked Winterfell. He placed Daenery’s dragon sigil next to his own wooden Direwolf, and banged down the Lannister lion last. When he was done, he sat at the head of the table, looking up expectantly. Daenerys sat at the other end, Ser Jorah and Tyrion at her sides. Sansa sat in between Arya and Tyrion, Daario in between Grey Worm and Ser Davos, looking intently at Jon Snow.

Brandon Stark stirred awake with a soft gasp, his eyes rolling back into their normal brown. He wheeled his chair around to face Daario, but his words were meant for Jon.

“I see the Kingslayer riding through the King’s Road, but he has fewer men that I expected. You said Cersei pledged all her forces to us?” he asked blandly.

“Yes, she did. I wouldn’t worry about it too much, I’m sure Jaime is leading split forces. Perhaps Bronn is leading the other half,” Tyrion said.

Bran nodded, “Alright.”

They gave Daario a brief explanation of the White Walkers and their army. He raised an eyebrow to her, but she told him that she’s seen them all. Then they launched into battle plans and tactics, the quietest ones being the Stark siblings, seeing as there were only there to council Jon. Daario offered his men to the cause, but only received another curt nod from Jon. Daenerys smiled internally, amused at the men’s stiff exchanges. She watched Jon carefully as he introduced ideas and strategies for the Lannister and Northern forces. His ideas were clever, she noted. Despite his youth, he was a seasoned commander. Her eyes trailed from the scar above his eye down to his full lips, surrounded by a dark, rugged beard. She watched his eyelashes frame his brown eyes, and felt herself pooling hotly between her legs. He spoke her name, and all eyes turned to her, breaking her from her thoughts. Dany felt like a child caught stealing a delicacy. She eyed Jorah and Daario, then raised her gaze to Jon. She blinked foolishly at him, clearing her throat. 

Jon beamed briefly, but sobered his expression to repeat what he’d just said, “I was just saying how we’ve sent for the best smiths to come and scheme the dragonglass crossbow, a scorpion like the Lannister’s.”

Dany’s chest panged at his words, picturing a skeletal, sickly version of her child with blue eyes. She shook her head and looked away.

“Hundreds of years of my ancestors bloody history will tell you all you have to know,” she prodded, “Only a dragon can kill a dragon.”

“Your Grace,” Sansa spoke up, “I’m afraid my brother is right. How long until one of your remaining dragons falls in their hands?”

“You are the last Targaryen, you shouldn’t put yourself at such risks,” Daario agreed. 

“She’s not,” Brandon Stark murmured. 

Jon looked up questioningly, “What?”

Bran looked around the room and shook his head, “I only meant, it would be a great risk to put her in danger. But there is another way, I can fly your dragons to battle.”

Daenerys exchanged looks with Tyrion, both unsure of how to reply. Daario chuckled under his breath, and Arya scoffed.

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, “Only a true born Targaryen can fly on a dragon’s back.”

Bran smiled eerily during a silent pause, and looked at Jon, “Yes, but there are other ways. I am a warg.”

Jon sucked in a breath, “How…?”

“I warged into Summer when he was alive. I’ve warged inside birds, I can see through their eyes and fly over castles.”

Sansa shifted uncomfortably away from Bran, closer to Tyrion. 

“That still won’t help us if the dragons are killed,” she pointed out.

“No, it doesn’t,” agreed Tyrion.

Daenerys rose to her feet, “I know all of you want to keep me and my children safe, but we will all die if I don’t stop Viseryon.”

Jon sighed and stood as well, “Alright, none of us can stop you, but I won’t stop the making of the scorpions either,” he looked to the window, “Its getting late. We can resume this tomorrow morning, we’ve done all the work that can be done today.”

They agreed and left to their chambers. The room was empty save for Jon, Daario, and Daenerys. Ghost sat up next to Jon, baring his teeth to Daario. They exchanged unsettling looks.

“May I speak with the Queen, my Lord?” Daario asked indifferently. 

Jon walked across the room to the door, but stopped when he reached Dany. He threw a scathing look to Daario, and glanced back at her.

“Ghost, stay,” He commanded. The wolf positioned himself tall besides Daenerys, and Jon left the room with his usual brooding mask, leaving the door open behind him.

Daario chuckled, “Your new house dog is very protective of you.”

“Ghost is a Direwolf, not a dog,” she said.

“I wasn’t talking about the wolf,” he made clear. 

Daenerys pressed her lips into a thin line, “I’m not happy that you came here, but you’re right, we need the men. I will allow you to stay here for the Northern battle, but you will sail to Meeren afterwards, no matter the outcome.”

Daario gave a grim nod. He moved forward, his voice was tender, “I’ve missed you.”

She took a deep breath but didn’t acknowledge his affections, “If you break my trust again, I will have you hanged.”

His eyes twinkled, “Seems like a good way to go.”

She turned away and walked out of the study with Ghost. She climbed up the stairs to the tower where her room was, and found Jon crouched low on a desk, writing down on parchment. He didn’t look up when they entered. He was irritable, she realized, amused. She snaked her arms under his and around his middle.

He put his quill down and tensed under her touch. 

“Your Grace,” he said.

Dany laughed softly and kissed the rough edge of his jaw, covered with stiff hairs that scrapped her lips. Her hands snaked down to his breeches, feeling him soft, but growing. He groaned at her touch.

“Daenerys,” he warned, “I still have things to do, burdens to take care of.”

“Your Queen commands you to take care of her first,” she whispered in his ear. 

Dany smiled against his skin as she felt the bulge under his breeches respond. He turned his head to kiss her savagely and wrapped his own arms around her. They stood, pressing their bodies together, against the edge of the desk. The bottle of ink fell to a thud, but neither of them paid it any mind. He pressed her against the cold stone wall, kissing her with his lips and tongue. He bit down on her bottom lip, drawing blood. She gasped at his cravings, and bit him on his bottom lip too. She licked the blood from her lips and fisted a handful of his hair. 

Breathing unevenly, he pulled away to unbuckled his sword belt and untie his breeches. The sword fell with a loud clank, but Daenerys was too busy lifting her skirts to hear it. He entered her damp entrance, still hot and glistening with the lust from earlier that day. She held on to his neck with both arms, fondling the mass of curls. He thrust into her with great force, making it hard for her to catch her breath. He bit and sucked at the skin of her neck, his whiskers leaving a delicious scratching sensation. She drove her hips against him, thoroughly enjoying the way he filled her. He lifted her leg higher. She struggled to balance, but regained her stability by propelling against him. He pushed into her profoundly, making her savor the new position. 

Jon brought his lips to hers again, grasping her globes over her dress. She moaned in surprise at how tender her breasts felt under his touch. They were mating like the wildest wolfs. Like fire breathing dragons. He drew back from her lips to look into her eyes. His brown eyes dilated at the sight of her. She looked back, determined to stand as tall as him. Another groan escaped his lips. His manhood trembled inside her. Daenerys could feel herself giving in to the pressure too, but he was first. He shut his eyes and buried himself inside her one last time before emitting his inkling inside her belly. She held on tighter with one hand and lowered her leg, pressing circles on the top of her slit, where pressure built easiest. Jon saw what she was doing and replaced her hand with his own, leaning down to bite her earlobe. She subdued a wail into his shoulder, now pulling his hair, as her own release came. 

Dany was struggling to catch her breath when Jon compelled her to the bed. She wondered faintly where he sourced all his strength. She might be a dragon unburnt, but he had the stamina of a wolf. He pressed her down on the sheets and lowered his head to the hem of her skirts. He pulled them above her knees and held a grip to both of her thighs. He trailed wet kissed all along her inner thighs, and ran his hands on the surface of her creamy skin. She took a fistful of the sheets and gasped, still trying to tame her breaths.

“What are you doing?” She panted.

He looked up, “I’m no longer a King. I can give you the Lord’s kiss now.”

Then he nibbled and licked at her entrance. He sucked and released her mound, building her up again. She was at his mercy. Jon bit and sucked at the thighs, leaving marks. He was claiming her, she thought, like a raging wolf. She climaxed again, binding her legs around him and pulling at his curls. She bit her lip to keep from screaming out, drawing blood again. 

Exhausted and shaking, she pulled him close to her and brought their lips together. The fire had never bothered her. She relished his warmth against her own scorching skin. Drops of sweat fell down into his shirt. She had never known lovemaking like this. She licked the blood off her lips again, slowing her breathing. She turned them over, holding his hands above his head, her hair ticking his face.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” She demanded.

“It just happened on its own,” he admitted, “what about you? You don’t seem like a shy maid.”

She laughed, but considered lying. After a moment, she confessed, “One of my Dothraki handmaidens taught me. She used to be a whore.”

Jon blinked in surprise, but then barked a mad laugh, “The Queen herself learned bedding from professionals, I would never have guessed.”

Daenerys kissed him again then slumped beside him. He sat up and removed the clothing on his upper half. She watched the beads of sweat that had complied on his scarred chest. Too tired to take her clothing off, she rolled into her stomach and asked him to unlace the back for her. He complied happily and shrugged her out of her dress and small clothes. Naked, Dany nestled against him, pressing her palms to his scars. She kissed the wounds and sighed dreamily.

She traced his scars with her finger, “You’re full of surprises, Jon Snow.”

“Don’t think I am,” he said honestly.

The sky was dark outside, leaving the dim candles to be their only source of light. 

“The first day, you came into my throne room and refused to bend the knee, but you had the cheek to ask for my army’s support, I’d thought I would lock you up to rot in a cell,” She said, “I was so furious that day.”

He chuckled, “I remember. I was too.”

Jon put his arm around her, cupping her arse, and brought the furs over them. They reveled at the other’s presence, holding each other close and talking softly, until their hearts and breaths slowed into sleep, and the candles burnt out. 

 

Daenerys woke to the sound of rapping at the door, and ghost’s growls. Her eyes snapped open, to see Jon already standing in his breeches, sword in hand. He approached the door carefully, unsure of what he would find. But before he could open it, a voice called out.

“Daenerys, its me,” announced Daario. 

Jon tensed up and looked at her. Dany closed her eyes in frustration and sighed. She held her finger to her lips, asking Jon to be silent. She slid off the bed, standing on the cold floor. The chilly air made her nipples instantly perk up. She slid into her shift and put a thick cloak over herself, covering her body. She hushed Ghost and nodded reassuringly to Jon before cracking the door open and sliding out.

“My Queen,”he said, bowing.

“What was so important that couldn’t wait until morning,” she snapped.

“This,” he explained, holding out a garland of local flowers, like he had back in Essos.

She did not return his smile, “I thought I made myself clear when I left you in Meeren. Whatever we shared before, is no longer.”

He stepped forward, “And I told you, I don’t care what perfumed lord sits beside you. I will never love someone like I love you, Daenerys Targaryen. Let me stand by you until the end. Let me make you happy.”

Daario leaned forward and pressed her into a sudden kiss. Daenerys felt as if her breath was knocked out from her. He crept up a hand under her cloak and squeezed at her breast. She gasped, but it wasn’t from pleasure, but rather from pain. Her breasts were awfully tender and vulnerable. She pushed him away and covered herself with her hands. 

“How dare you disrespect me like that!” She shrieked, loud enough for the whole tower to hear, “I am your QUEEN! Not some tavern wench!”

At her words, the door flew open and Ghost threw his whole weight on Daario. The effect had been friendly with Jon, but with Daario, the wolf looked ready to tear into his flesh. Jon came out shirtless, gripping Longclaw in one hand. He stood between Dany and Daario. His face alight with anger as he saw her cover herself protectively. He put one arm in front of Daenerys and held the sword threateningly with the other.

“I should put my sword through you for doing that,” he growled.

The loose curls that littered his face and unsettling deep scars at his chest gave him a savage look. Ghost snapped his teeth near Daario’s face before returning to his master’s side. Jon looked behind to Daenerys and forced himself to calm down. 

“You are no longer welcomed here,” he snarled, "Go camp outside with your men. You can join the fight of the living, or leave. If you’re ever seen inside this castle, I’ll execute you myself.” 

Daario’s fingers brushed over his throwing knife, but came to realize it wouldn’t come to much help if the Direwolf lunged. He took in Jon’s scars, a calculating look reached his eyes. She wanted to pull Jon away, but seemed frozen to the spot. Finally, Daario nodded in resignation and stood up. He eyed Daenerys sadly, and swallowed hard. Before turning away, he spoke:

“Treat her well, Lord Snow, or she will burn you alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are plenty more things to look forward to, I promise!!!
> 
> BTW, i hope someone can catch the foreshadowing (HINT: its not the last line.)


	9. ARYA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya played the game of faces, now she plays the game of thrones. Sansa speaks with Daenerys. The blacksmiths bring their aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, I just traveled back to my own country and I got severely sick. But we Starks are hard to kill, so enjoy your fic!

ARYA 

If the castle hadn’t already been in a state of turmoil because of various war fronts, the arrival of winter, and the difficult sustainment of several northern armies, Arya thought, the dishonorable rumors of the Queen would have surely shaken Winterfell to its foundation. A handful of nobles and servants alike in Daenery’s tower had reportedly heard the Queen screaming at someone in indignation, very late at night. Many of the testimonies include hearing one or several men. Some of them claimed it to be a Northern lord or the former King himself, trying to slide under the Queen’s furs. Had she lived, Arya thought the rumors would be enough to make Septa Mordane flush purple. 

No one dared to speak ill of Jon or Daenerys in public, but as a silent shadow, Arya knew that all the Northern lords and ladies were buzzing with their own suspicions. Their tales became so muddled at one point, that Arya had heard a servant girl vow that she saw the Winter King turn into a white wolf, gorging one of the Queen’s guards in his anger. Arya had little patience with rumors and politics, but she knew that if the tales got any further, the alliance would be in danger. 

Using one of her faces, she took it upon herself to act as an unusually informed servant girl. She squashed and reshaped the gossip so impressively, that by the time she was done, the lowborn folk seemed to believe that the Queen herself became a dragon at night. She thought of the foolish Hot Pie, how he’d seem to believe everything he was told. Then she remembered a carefully crafted Bull’s Helm, and agreed that Gendry would not have believed the gossip. But her work was done, as long as the servants babbled about magic and beastly Queens, the High Borns would turn their tales away. 

Arya had a vague idea of what had happened to the Queen when they resumed their small council the next day. The Queen had called for the meeting to begin when Sansa interrupted.

“Your Grace,” She had said to Daenerys, “Wouldn’t you like us to summon one of your commanders for the meeting?”

Jon answered broodingly, without looking up from the map at the table.

“No,” he cut in before the Queen could reply, “Theres no need here for the counseling of a sell sword with wavering loyalties.”

“My Lord,” Varys the spider said, “Daario Naharis is the commander for-“

“Aye, I know what he commands,” Jon grunted, still strangely occupied with the map, “My Lord.” 

Arya would have laughed, had Jon not acted so similar to their father when he wanted his authority to be valued.

Jorah Mormont agreed, “Lord Snow is right. If we invited every Northern lord that offered us his army to these affairs, we would argue until nightfall.”

Arya stopped herself from commenting that Jorah Mormont was a disgraced knight, exiled by her father and Queen Daenerys herself. 

“I think my brother would prefer to be called Lord Jon, Ser Jorah,” Bran commented.

Jon grimaced down at the map as if it had said something unpleasant, but waved his hand in the air. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, finally looking up, “Lord Tyrion, I believe your brother will arrive soon?”

“Yes, he will. He should walk through those gates any day now. But I daresay the blacksmiths you summoned will arrive first, seeing as they have a shorter distance to travel.”

Jon nodded broodingly. He turned to the fat Brother of the Night’s Watch beside him.

“Sam, how is the forging of the scorpion?” he asked.

The man had not expected to have to speak in front of the rest, but he nodded eagerly to Jon, “The men haven’t began construction yet. They’re trying to test the design for any failures.”

“Missandei,” the Queen spoke up, turning all the attention to her, “Would you be so kind as to summon a handmaid?”

The girl stood and bowed her head, “At once your Grace.”

Everyone was watching her questioningly, but Jon turned away as if he hadn’t heard her.

“They need to begin making this weapon now if we are to take down a dead dragon,” he issued.

“Ah, but they should perfect their plans on parchment first,” Tyrion argued, “If they build the contraption too hurriedly, it might end up killing one of us by accident.”

The Queen’s advisor entered with a servant girl. Missandei sat at the Queen’s side at once. The girl bowed to the Queen and brought a tray of goblets and pitchers. She lay them around the table, while Jon continued to chat, distractedly. 

“Not wine,” Daenerys ordered, “I intend to stay sober during all these meetings.”

Tyrion reached for a pitcher himself and filled the entirety of his goblet, “An admirable habit, my Queen. If only the rest of us could be half as wise as you, we might live on a better world.”

Arya wanted to laugh at his brashness, but she did’t give him that satisfaction. The Queen looked disapprovingly, but turned to the girl again.

“Bring us some fruit, we’ll be here for a while. Perhaps some sliced oranges for me.” she said.

Jon’s sudden laugh startled them. He seemed aware of how strange his laughter sounded to them, because he shifted uncomfortably and looked around stiffly, suppressing his grin. Sansa exchanged a knowing look, Arya was smirking despite herself. Sansa had taken an expression deemed worthy of a Septa.

“Your Grace,” Sansa explained, “Oranges cannot grow in these cold winds. Now that winter has come to the South, I don’t think you might see another Orange until winter is over.”

Daenerys took in her words with a blank face, turning to the girl, “Forgive me, of course, I am unfamiliar with the local harvest. I hoped that perhaps some had been sent from the Reach….very well, do we have any guava in the North?”

Arya could see Varys fighting down a smile, “I’m afraid it only grows across the Narrow Sea, your Grace.”

She tapped her nails impatiently on the table then seemed to compose herself, placing her hands on her lap.

Finally, she took a deep breath, “Anything will do.”

Jon chuckled again, deepening Sansa’s frown. 

“You can burn your enemies with dragon fire and lay waste to entire cities,” he mused, “But you didn’t know oranges grow in the south?”

Even Arya was surprised at the informality in his tone. 

The Queen was more composed, a regal mask on her face, “I’m afraid not."

“My brother meant no offense, your Grace,” Sansa amended, “He only meant to say that even the most powerful rulers can be surprising.”

“Oh yes,” agreed Tyrion, “Even the quietest players of the game can bring the storm. Remember your suggestions for punishing Lord Desmond for his crimes?”

Sansa was no longer a blushing maiden, but she smiled kindly, “I should have told my handmaiden, Shae, to gone through with the plan.”

After her comment, the dwarf’s mood inexplicably darkened. Lord Varys pressed on with important matters. Her brother and the Queen were thoroughly formal for the remaining of the evening, but Arya saw Jon watching the Queen at times where she didn’t speak up. Arya found the meeting insufferable, and stopped listening to their conversation. She regarded them all carefully, trying to understand the people in the room. She trust the Queen’s advisor’s the least, but found their advise intelligent and good-natured. Then she started watching Daenerys too, the things her regal composure couldn’t erase. If the Queen disagreed with anyone, she would approach the subject reasonably but passionately. The few times she disagreed with the Warden of the North, the room became tense, and the concept of interrupting became daunting. 

After the small council meeting, everyone stood to leave, but the Queen lingered.

“Lady Sansa, Arya,” she called out, “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Both of them turned in alarm, but Jon’s head whipped through the air. He looked unsure of what to say, so he just stood to walk outside the room, Ghost behind him. The wolf stopped in between the women, smiling in endearment with his tongue out, but Jon left. Arya scratched Ghost’s fur and settled on the Queen’s right side. Sansa marched as if to pet Ghost, but Arya knew it was so that she could distance away from Daenerys. They walked side by side, making light conversation and wrapped in formalities. 

When they reached the empty top of the keep, at the edge of the castle, Daenerys stopped talking to admire the Northern beauty. Arya had always hated the songs about the pretty ladies and the gallant knights. She had never liked wearing pretty dresses or sitting still while her hair was arranged. But the Queen's beauty was not one of the songs, Arya thought. Daenerys’ beauty was the one of the freezing winters, and the scorching flame. The Queen turned back, her face was set hard. 

“I know I’m not welcomed here,” she began. 

“Your Grace,” Sansa tried to intervene, “We are most honored to-“

“Sansa,” Daenerys said, firmly, but not unkindly, “I’m not a fool.”

Arya respected the Queen, but she did not truly trust her. Sansa’s courtly smile turned to a passive, unreadable mask. The Dragon Queen sighed, her breath condensed into a windy mist. Arya was reminded of the dragon’s smoky breaths.

“The first time I ever saw snow was beyond the wall,” she said, turning her back on them to gaze down to the snowy woods. 

They said nothing. They had heard the tale of the Queen rescuing their brother, and had already thanked her for it. What more could the Queen want?

“I remember flying over the seas, past the North, and beyond the wall. I thought to myself, if I allowed my men to die in that mission, then I wasn’t worthy of keeping the Seven Kingdoms safe, and if I died . . . then I wasn't good enough for the Iron Throne. I saw the Night King’s army, how their rotting skin fell off their bones as they fought. I thought I was too late, but then I saw them in the midst of the army, fighting the dead. I haven’t seen a warrior as good as your brother- not since-”

Daenerys hesitated, and took a deep breath, “Then the Night King threw a giant bolt into the air-“ her lip trembled, “and my poor, sweet baby fell to the ground screaming. He knew it would happen again- your brother -he knew we would all be doomed if I didn’t fly away. But he couldn’t come with us. For every step he took, three dead men would attack. They pushed him down into the ice water, and I knew then. I knew he was dead. So we left without him . . . And he came back to the wall, weak and dying, but he came back,”

“Your brother came back from the cold,” Daenerys continued, “Before I met him, he was murdered, stabbed to the chest by his own. But he came back from that, too. Its true, I know it.”

Arya inhaled a sharp breath, her hands shaking slightly. Sansa’s face was set to stone, two silent tears sliding down her lovely cheeks.

Why are you telling us?”Arya challenged.

“My own brother sold me to the Dothraki. Had my father lived, he would have sent me off to some high Lord. The long night is coming, if we die, I don’t want my last days to be some miserable secret. Jon Snow is blood, and I am fire. I want him to be my King . . . if thats alright with you.”

Despite the tears, Sansa gave a dry chuckle, “You’re asking for our permission to marry our brother?”

Daenerys shook her head, “I could settle for your favor. I don’t want to tear him from his family, or make him unhappy, but I also cannot rule if he’s not at my side.”

They both kept quiet, apprehensive as to what to say. Sansa stepped forward, surprising Arya at her boldness. She extended her long, pale hand, and Daenerys shook it gracefully. Sansa yanked her arm forwards and pulled her and Arya into a hug. They were both uncomfortable, but after a pause, the Queen relaxed and hugged them back tightly. Sansa pulled back, unsmiling, but clearly touched. 

“I would never bring harm to your family,” Daenerys vowed.

“You will be our family,” Sansa amended.

The Queen let out a nervous chuckle. The direwolf pushed forward and placed his snout on her hands, bidding to be pet. Daenerys buried her hands at his fur. During a comfortable silence, she rubbed the back of his ears along his powerful neck. 

“Ghost approves,” Arya noted, “Maybe thats enough.”

They made their way back down. Since her arrival at Winterfell, Arya hadn’t considered being separated from her siblings again. But Jon would be a king, Sansa would always be a lady, and Bran was different now. She also couldn’t imagine herself living at their side in Winterfell forever. The thought saddened her. She wondered what she would do after the war, and who she would meet.

The men blasted the horn, striking them all back from their thoughts. They heard the gates open and the sounds of horses arriving. She thought she hard men arguing, so she withdrew needle from her belt and approached the East Gate. She saw Ser Davos and her brother shaking hands with some lean high born. She looked around to see dozens of men dismounting from horses or wagons. She heard her name, and looked up.

She had not seen him since she was a child. He had been taken by Thoros of Myr and the Red Woman. They were on her list for it. Jon looked back and forward in confusion. He no longer had a bull’s helmet at his arm, but a stag’s. 

“Do you know my little sister?” Jon’s blurred voice asked.

Arya dropped needle in the snow. He let go of his helm, moving Ser Davos aside. She leapt to wrap her arms around him and bury her head on his shoulder. Gendry had arrived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of your that didn't get Tyrion's reference, Sansa had once suggested opening a hole in Lord Desmond's bed and filling it with sheep "shift" to pay him back for laughing at them. 
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------
> 
> NEXT EP'S CLUE + BONUS: Ft. Servants of Winterfell
> 
> "Lord Jon Snow wants us to find a room for his guest."
> 
> "Yeah we found him one."
> 
> "No, a bunch of smiths came through the gates and need new rooms"
> 
> "Damn, idk man what are we supposed to do?"
> 
> *Distand Horn* "OPEN THE GATES"
> 
> "WaIT wHaT?"
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------
> 
> As always, leave me your comments. I don't always reply but I read all of them. 
> 
> All men must die, all men must serve.


	10. TYRION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion had trouble sleeping. Jaime Lannister arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super sick, and getting worse actually, which is why these haven't been coming out as often as they did. But don't worry! I haven't forgotten you, my dears!
> 
> \--------------------------------  
> N O T E:  
> Due to a lot of reasonable feedback, this chapter has been tweaked a slightest bit:
> 
> for more info, check End Notes.

TYRION

 

The sound of his dead lover’s name from Sansa’s lips had made his blood chill more than he thought possible. After that detestable small council meeting, Tyrion bolted the door of his chambers and drank himself to a brief sleep. He awoke at the foot of his bed, half of his body close to falling to the ground. He heaved an anxious breath and staggered to the center of his bed. His hip pressed against something hard, and he fumbled through his dark sheets until his hand curled around the empty wine flask. 

Tyrion sighed and got off the bed to light his candles. After he did so, he picked up a book and willed himself to read the first page. His eyes were weary and growing teary with exhaustion. He snapped the book and lay down on his bed, willing sleep to come. When it was clear that it would not, he got off the bed again with his book at hand and walked out of his quarters. 

He didn’t know how late it was, but he made his way for the library tower all the same. It was empty, and he was alone. He sighed in relief and settled himself to the brightest spot of the room. He opened the book at his lap but did not capture its words, his mind racing back to Jon Snow’s laughter and Daenery’s smile. He ought to be happy for them, he thought, but loving anyone had not brought him any joy in the long term. 

He wondered where he could have been if he hadn’t been accused of Joffrey’s murder, or if Joffrey wouldn’t have died at all. He would be planning war against Daenerys and Jon, alongside his family. Tyrion wondered, if perhaps Cersei had considered him family, they could be ruling the Kingdoms together. Not in the sickly way his siblings loved each other, but a true brother and sister bond. He had loved her children, and now they were dead. He remembered lifting Myrcella in his arms, even when she had grown as tall as him. He thought of Tommen’s sweet smile. The boy would have resembled Joffrey, had it not been for their opposite natures. 

Tyrion remembered when he received a raven of the Prince’s birth. He lived in Casterly Rock at the time. It would take him years to finally meet his nephew. He had been exited, despite himself, to meet a new member of the family. When he arrived at the Red Keep and first laid eyes on the boy, Tyrion had known there was no part of Robert in him. He never brought it up with Jaime, but one look at his siblings was enough to know the truth. Little royal Joffrey had been revolted at the sight of his uncle, hiding behind his mother and snickering when she made nasty remarks. He had chased Tyrion around court with the Hound, hitting him with his wooden sword when he heard something that displeased him. In the beginning, he was sad but determined to win his nephew’s favor with toys or cakes.

At one point, he gave the boy a beautifully bred golden pup. To his delight, Joffrey was static to receive the pup. Hours later, Joffrey screamed and cried because the pup had been taken away. Tyrion was horrified when he heard his nephew kicked his new dog half to death, and even more so when he heard disturbing tales of him cutting open a pregnant cat to take one of the bloody kittens as his own. From that day on, he could not muster any love for the boy.

He fell asleep thinking of his dead nephew. He had dreams of gold and blood. Golden furs matted in dark blood. Beautiful golden chains muddied up with thick drops of it. The stone walls behind a chamber pot, suddenly turned gold, splatted with the red remains of his father. He woke up, in the library tower, crying out in shock to see stands of red and grey in front of him. Sansa gasped and took some steps back. Brienne of Tarth shadowed behind her, fully clad in armor. Tyrion assessed the situation around him, his heart threatening to crawl from his bloody chest.

“My lord,” Sansa exclaimed, “I’m sorry to wake you. Its just, we were looking for you everywhere.”

“You best come, Lord Tyrion,” the woman knight said, “Ser Jaime has arrived this morning. We’re gathering at court to decide his fate.”

“His…what?” He said, disoriented. He got off the seat and made his way with Sansa to the Great Hall, “Why would we be deciding my brother’s fate?”

“Cersei lied, as I thought she would,” Sansa said darkly, “Your brother claims she is still conspiring against us.”

His already sick stomach shriveled in dread. They talked as they made their way into Winterfell's Great Hall. 

“But,” he reasoned, “She’s with child. She would never gamble her children’s lives to her odds in combat.”

“You’re right about that. Ser Jaime says she’s buying sell swords from Essos. Lets hope for the sake of his head that he’s brought more than sour news.”

“His head? But he traveled here to tell us!”

“He’s a Lannister,” Sansa hissed. 

They stopped at the doors of the Giant hall.

“So am I,” Tyrion reminded her, “and you.”

Sansa’s face contorted in rage, but he opened the doors and made his way next to Daenerys before she could reply. Jaime had not been chained, but two Dothraki men stood on either side of him. His brother met his gaze, pleading, Tyrion swallowed. The lords at the hall spat nasty comments at Jaime. The Lannister name rolled off their tongues like a savage insult. 

“My Queen,” he urged in a whisper. “My brother is-“

Daenerys Targaryen held up a hand, silencing everyone in the hall.

“Are you so bold to walk through these gates without the promised armies, expecting us to hold hostilities against you while your sister plans to murder us all?” She asked in a dangerous, low voice.

Jaime chuckled nervously, “I did bring some men. All the Lannister men I could find. It’s hard to summon forces to march North without the Queen’s support.”

“I am the Queen,” Daenerys stated, “Your sister has no right to that throne, and her men were promised to our cause.”

“You don’t think I didn’t try to reason with her? Forgive me, your Grace,” he spat the title, “But there is little I can do to change her mind. I risked my life by coming here with my men.”

Jon Snow sighed, “How many men did you bring, exactly?”

His brother took in a sharp breath, “Less than a thousand, but I did my part, I fulfilled my oath!”

“You dare!” Daenerys called, “to speak of Oaths? You! who shoved a sword through my father’s back, the man you swore to protect!”

“Your father was an evil king, you’ve said it yourself,” Tyrion reminded her calmly.

“Your Grace, you can hardly point me for my broken oaths when your most trusted men are eunuchs, disgraced knights and a deserter from the Night’s Watch.”

She stood up abruptly, scraping the seat against the stone floor. While her face remained calm, Tyrion could see the veins below her neck pulsing in anger. 

“Jon Snow was released from his vows the day he died. You will not find a more honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms,” she exclaimed, “Ser Jorah Mormont has paid for his past crimes, and has served me well.”

“You pushed me out of a window,” Brandon Stark said suddenly, “I was merely a boy, but you tried to kill me because I saw you and your sister in the broken tower.”

The crowd broke out in anger. Many of them called for his death. Others called for Lannister blood to quench their appetite for the cost of war. Tyrion glanced at the Stark table, the regal members were full of anger. Even Jon Snow had taken an alarming look.

Daenerys stepped around the table and walked to the middle of the hall. Once more, the commanding atmosphere around her bid everyone to quiet down.

“Do you remember the first time I saw you?” She asked coldly, “Before meeting you in the Dragon pits.”

Tyrion watched in horror, his heart close to hammering through the flesh. He remembered all too well.

“Yes,” Jaime said regretfully.

“You charged at me with a spear,” she said, “You tried to kill me.”

“As did you,” he reasoned, “But I came here willingly, didn’t I? It’s not my fault the King in the North refused her offer, the fault is your own for seducing him. Or was it the other way around?”

“Ser Jaime!” Brienne of Tarth cried out, “Mind your tongue, Ser, these people have reason enough to want you dead. Don’t give them more."

Jon breathed out in frustration, uneasy at the whispers of his banner men, “Why would you want to come? to tell us of your sister’s plan?”

“As stubborn and flawed as she can be, I want her safe. I want us all safe from those things.”

“Stubborn?” Sansa’s nostrils flared, “A broodmare is stubborn. Cerise is vile, and you've never tried to stop her.”

“Listen girl, I have seen-“ Jaime began.

“Cerise blew up the Great Sept. Cersei killed Ser Loras, she-“ Sansa’s voice tightened, “She killed Margery. She let my father be executed! They were innocent, but you stood with her even after they died!” 

Tyrion couldn’t help feel betrayed at Sansa’s words, thought he knew them to ring true. Truth often comes from the mouths of babes, he recalled, but Sansa is no longer a child. 

“Your Grace,” Tyrion pleaded, “If what my brother says is true, he has risked his life to bring these news to you. I’m sure if you grant him his life, he will bend the knee and help us after the great war is over.”

“The Kingslayer is dangerous, my Lord. I trust you, but your brother can be here to butcher us in our sleep,” Jon said warily, “How can we know if he speaks the truth?”

Sansa raised her head, “Bran, is there a way you can see this?”

Tyrion knew the boy had some powers, but couldn’t explain the full extend of them. At some point between dragons and dead men, Tyrion had stopped reasoning the extraordinary. Everyone held their breath as the boy’s eyes rolled back in his head. After minutes of strained silence, he had begun to exchange worried looks with Varys. 

“It’s true,” Bran finally announced.

“He still won’t be of any help to us after we win the war,” Arya Stark spoke up, “He will betray us at first chance.”

“Lady Stark speaks truly,” a Knight of the vale said, glaring at Tyrion, “We cannot trust Lannisters.”

“Your Grace,” Sansa said to the Queen, “For the sake of your hand, I ask you to give Ser Jaime the mercy my father did not get. I lived with the Lannisters for years, I even took the Lannister name at one point.”

Daenerys blinked in surprise, her eyes scanning Tyrion for a second.

“Ser Jaime might support his sister’s claim, but he saved Lady Brienne from the Boltons when he could have let her die, and allowed her to come to my service from King’s Landing. If he hadn’t done that, I would have been left to die in the forrest, or worse.”

The way Sansa spoke about the Boltons made him forget his anger with her, and his heart swell with sorrow. He was grateful for her help, even if she did despise Jaime for being a Lannister.

“You wish for me to pardon the man who tried to kill your brother?” Daenerys questioned her.

“I wouldn’t be the three-eyed raven if I hadn’t fallen” Bran said, “I’ve seen his pain from his own eyes, he has paid enough for everything he’s done."

“Don’t kill him then,” Arya spoke up, “Lock him up in a cell.”

The Queen’s eyes locked with Jon Snow’s, then back again to Jaime, “What do you think, my Lord?”

“Jon Snow,” Jaime called out before he could speak, “If Cersei didn’t go through with the peace terms, the fault lies with you, not me. Don’t cut off my head for your mistakes.”

Tyrion wanted to shout in agreement, but he wouldn't dare to disregard his Queen. His eyes shifted nervously from the Northern Bastard to the Dragon Queen. 

Daenerys sucked in a deep breath and made her way back at the high table, the clicking of her boots vibrated through the hall. She settled herself next to him and gave him a sober look. He pleaded back silently, hoping she understood. She faced Jon Snow, and he gave her a grim nod. Tyrion suppressed a shiver as she addressed Jaime.

“Not long ago, I would have sentenced you to death for your crimes,” She said, “But I will not betray my hand’s trust. These are hard times, and we need all the men we can find. I will grant you your life, but you will not march back to Cersei after the battle is done. If you break this trust in any small act, you will be food for the direwolf or my dragons.”

Her words meant to strike fear, but Jaime smirked, filling Tyrion with even more dread, “How fitting that the wolf and the dragon like to eat their meals together. Very well, Your Grace. If I can be excused I will tend to my men’s camp.”

Daenerys did not lose her poise, but a slight flush crept at her ears. For a wild moment, Tyrion thought she would order for his head, but she merely dismissed Jaime, then updated the court in their plans. None of them found any controversy about the dragon glass forging, or the design of the scorpions, but they scowled at her in bitter silence, wanting to lash out. After the fill of the plans was done, lords and council left the Great Hall alike.

Tyrion’s thoughts turned to the abruptness of the outside cold. He hugged his cloak closer to him and made his way out of the castle, heading to the Lannister camp. An ordinarily sized person might have been irked by their feet sinking into the snow while walking. However, the dwarf’s legs were so short, that the snow troubled him considerably. By the time he reached the commander’s tent, he was very sulky. He drew the tent opening apart and invited himself in. His brother looked up from trying to untie his sword’s belt. 

“You ought to get a squire to help you,” Tyrion said, settling himself on a chair.

Jaime straightened up, “Just because I have one hand doesn’t mean I can’t do things for myself.”

“Ah, that’s very refreshing to hear, brother. Tell me, are you going to start sewing lions into your own garments?” He joked.

“Your Queen and Ned Stark’s bastard want me dead,” Jaime said, ignoring the jape, “Maybe one of their men will kill me anyhow, like when Karstark killed our cousins.”

“Maybe,” Tyrion agreed, disliking his tone, “You’d be a fool to think otherwise. Our cousins were innocent children. You are neither a child, nor innocent. But, if it soothes your worries, they want me dead too, and I still have my head about me.”

“You have Daenerys Targaryen’s full protection. Anyone harms you, they burn,” he pointed out.

The corner’s of Tyrion’s mouth twitched. “I didn’t push the Stark boy off a tower.”

“I had no choice! What he saw could have started a war!”

“It did start a war,” Tyrion snapped, “Haven’t you considered that if you had only stayed out of Cersei’s legs, none of this would have happened.”

He scoffed, “So you’d rather face the dead men with Robert as king while the Targeryen cunt conquers the land? I love Cersei. I loved our children. I would have given anything at all to keep them alive. There is nothing I could do to make Cersei see reason, so I took it upon myself to fight for her. For our child. ”

He took a deep breath and willed himself to speak reason.

“You were a fool to bait them at court,” he said quietly, “Daenerys was going to let you live, but she might have not if you kept baiting on her affairs with Jon Snow.”

Jaime shook his head, ”How could you say that? He could have freed the North and stayed out of our war! But he chose not to so he could bed your Queen!" 

Tyrion knew Jon Snow was the most honorable man indeed, but any fool could see that his allegiance with the Queen was not purely political. While Jaime's brashness was out of place, his worries were not. Tyrion himself knew that Jon Snow truly believed Daenerys a good ruler, but his affection for her worried him as it did Jaime. His brother's actions at court could only be explained by the tired look in his eyes: Jaime Lannister was done playing the game. He did't want to win the throne and outsmart his enemies. He just wanted to live. He sighed, willing for his brother to understand his worry, "You’d best find a way to stay alive after they don’t need your armies. Perhaps tomorrow, they’ll decide they don’t need you to use the Lannister army, and throw you in a cell.”

They stood in a tense silence before Jaime sighed and sat across from him. 

“What would you have me do, kneel before your Queen and swear my unwavering loyalty?” He grunted, “She can keep my armies, I will go back to Cersei, or I will go to Casterly Rock if she won’t have me, but I will not side against my family.”

Not like me, Tyrion thought sadly. If only Jaime could see that he wanted to protect their family too. The lengths that he had gone to protect his family. Cersei's face swam before him, and his insides shriveled. But it was the bolt into their father's heart had rifted their relationship beyond healing, not their sister.

He sighed in frustration, “Daenery’s is just and merciful-" Jaime frowned “-If you convince Cersei to give up the throne, she will allow you both to live off in Casterly Rock under her guard. She has already granted mercy to your child no matter the outcome, but if you continue this war, she will bring you and our sister fire and blood.”

“You sound fond of her. Tell me, does it bother you knowing that she fucks the Stark Bastard, and not you?”

Tyrion chuckled darkly, “I’m not in love with her, if that’s what you mean. Oddly enough, I don’t desire her either, despite her beauty.”

Sansa’s smiling face swam into his head, but he shook the thought away. Jaime regarded him for a moment, but seemed to think he was being honest. Tyrion knew Jaime was doing his best to lash out at him. It must be dreary knowing the only person who cares about you killed your father, he thought.

“Its hard to find her beautiful, after her dragon nearly turned me to ash, but I expect those on her side must be mad with lust,” Jaime said, trying to provoke Tyrion still.

He frowned, rising from his chair.

“We are all on the same side now, beauty or not. Best you understand that soon if you want to keep your head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have outlined 3 chapters to come after this one, but I wonder how I'm going to introduce some new info. I'll let you guys decide! Who's POV do you prefer?
> 
> -The Hound  
> -Jaime Lannister  
> -Gendry Waters  
> -[Write your own]
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> \---------------------------  
> N O T E  
> Due to a lot of reasonable feedback, this chapter has been tweaked a slightest bit since its original upload:
> 
> -Jaime seems more of a jerk in this one because he has no one left except Tyrion, who he is still resentful for Tywin's death.  
> -Jaime does not plan to do anything rash, but he also is not eager to serve Daenerys, he wants to make sure they know that what he is doing is not for them but for the realm  
> -I also see a lot of your fears and valid points in Tyrion: He does not have any thoughts of betraying Daenerys, he just wants to looks out for the best of his family.
> 
> NEXT EP COMING SOON: Please don't chew me out! I've been extremely sick and doing my best to write between medicine induced naps. Thanks for your understanding, 
> 
> Love, LadyOfDragonstone


	11. GENDRY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry wants to be more than a smith. Jon invites Robert's bastard for supper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a lot to find some footing in this chapter. I did not turn down Gendrya for those of you who ship them but I also did not elaborate, so you can take whatever you'd like from their exchanges. I'm so SO sorry it took so long to write but I've been struggling to shape this story so that its not all fluff and it has a bit of plot without getting to far from S7 canon. Comment any requests, I love to heed your wishes!
> 
> Enjoy!

GENDRY

He had been surprised to see Arya Stark again. In truth, he had half thought her to be living in the woods, or taken residence in a lord’s kitchens, or dead. He did not wish to mention her to the King in the North, in case her body had been rotting under the dirt. Gendry did not truly want to know if she was alive, in part because he didn’t want to hear she was dead. He thought back of the day he saw her again.

When Gendry had released her from his reunion embrace, he pulled back and saw the changes years of war had on her. He was half expecting her to look like Arry the orphan boy, short and dirty, with skinny arms and oil in her hair. It took him a moment to see the change in Arya. Her hair fell neatly to her shoulders, no longer the dirt color he had come to know, but a dark tone that shone brown in the sun. Her clear face no longer resembled a that of a boy’s, but rather a lady’s.

They exchanged greetings and expressed their relief for each other’s safety. But it ended abruptly, as work needed to be done. Jon Snow was kind, but anyone could see he wanted to keep his sisters away from men that may have dark intentions. Not that Arya couldn’t protect herself, or that Gendry showed any sign of being dangerous, but her older brother was rightfully wary of everyone. He had wedged himself between them and steered her sister away from him, asking her to preside over the training of the common folk. Ser Davos steered Gendry away too, making comments about the lack of good blacksmiths in Winterfell. He didn’t want to be known as a simple blacksmith, but Ser Davos reminded him that he was the best at the trade and it would be useful to have men of skill during the long night. Gendry remembered going beyond the wall, seeing the army of the dead. It was said that all men must die, but all men must also serve.

As she walked away, he noted her long skinny sword back at her side, and a fine looking dagger. Years of forging steel made him look at a man’s weapons before looking at his eyes. Although she owned some of the most handsome blades he’d ever seen, Gentry’s eyes were suddenly scanning the way she had grown. Her clothing was no longer made of dirty rags, but boiled leather and fur-lined cloaks that draped her body elegantly. A rough hand on his shoulder startled him out from his thoughts.

“Best you keep your distance from the Stark girl,” the Onion Knight said, “Or have you suddenly grown fond of Highborns?”

He chuckled and nodded in agreement.

"Jon would like you to come to supper tonight, after you're washed and dressed. You will begin your work here early tomorrow, lad. But don't worry, I'm sure this place will agree with you."

A servant boy had been sent to show him to his quarters. They were not as grand or colorful as the ones he had been given on Dragonstone by the Red Priestess, but being raised in the slums of King’s Landing did not win him any feather beds or hot baths. He ran his hand over the carefully carved table at the side of his bed and ran his finger and thumb over the soft furs that covered his bed. He smiled foolishly at his luck, and began to undress himself for his bath. 

Gendry stepped inside the steaming tub and lowered his body until the water leveled at his chest. He relaxed his body, enjoying the hot water on his aching limbs, and allowed his eyes to wander the room. It was colored mainly by the greys of House Stark. Wolf eyes watched him from carved wood, stitched on pillows, and outlined on the canopy of his bed. He had sat in the water, thinking idly, until his skin was wrinkled and cold. After that, he hurried to scrub the dirt off his skin and hair. 

Then he picked up a set of folded clothes that had been left for him. He picked up the vest and inspected it. They were not the fine silks embroidered with crests and patterns that high lords or kings would wear, but they were not the sort of clothes for the likes of smiths and merchants. It was a Northern lord’s attire, clean and practical. The garments fit well over his lean build, making him look better that he had ever looked. He saw a glimpse of his reflection in the small mirror, and he wondered if he looked like his father had. 

He made his way to the spacious room where he had been invited to eat, but his first thought was that he must have gone to the wrong place. Surely, even a King’s bastard could not be invited to eat at such luxurious place? Then he remembered Jon Snow said the Queen was going to be there, and his stomach whirled uneasily. He sat down in front of Jon Snow, next to Ser Davos. 

“Its good that you came,” Ser Davos said, “Perhaps you weren’t meant to be clovis after all.”

Jon Snow chuckled and drank from his tankard of ale. 

“I don’t think eating with fancy people makes me a lord,” he joked.

“Fancy people?” said Ser Davos, “I’m just a smuggler turned knight.”

Jon nodded, “Aye, whatever they say, I’m just a bastard.”

Gendry’s heart sank. He wanted to be more than a bastard.

“Still, its a rare thing to dine with Lords and Queens,” he said.

The doors opened, two servants holding them for the incoming people. Gendry’s eyes fell on a sickly cripple boy, sitting in a wooden chair and looking straight at him with no expression. He raised his eyes to the girl pushing the chair and realized she was a lady. Gendry had sold good armor to many lords in King’s Landing, but he had rarely seen any ladies. He had never spoken to a highborn girl before meeting Arya, but he recognized nobility all the same.

She looked a bit like Arya, he thought, but prettier. She was tall and womanly, with high cheekbones and thick auburn hair that reached her middle. Gendry felt a rush of embarrassment, unsure if he should mention their arrival. He looked at Ser Davos.

“Sansa, Bran,” Jon said as they approached, “This is Gendry Waters, one of Arya’s friends. He’ll be joining us for supper.”

Jon, Gendry noted, was not good at courtesies either. Perhaps it was a common thing for bastards. Jon had been brought up in a castle and taught by a maester, but he never learned to be a proper lord, Gendry thought. But then again, Arya was not a proper lady either.

“You’re Robert’s bastard,” said the cripple.

Gendry chuckled nervously, “I am, yes.”

The pretty girl regarded him with a warm smile that did not reach her eyes, “Its a pleasure to meet one of my sister’s friends.” 

Gendry flushed slightly, but Jon seemed to understand his situation. He smiled as his siblings sat down.

“I still find it odd when they call me ‘Ser’,” the Onion Knight admitted, “Takes you a while, speaking to highborns. Takes even longer learning to read.”

At the word “Read”, Jon Snow looked up to his sister, “Is Sam coming?”

“He wanted to have some time with Gilly’s baby,” Brandon Stark said to no one in particular. 

No one else found his behavior odd, or at least, they did not show it. Servants opened the doors again, and in came a mix of dark-skinned guards in handsome armor and a party of lords and ladies. The dwarf in front had to be Tyrion Lannister, Gendry thought with a flash of excitement, remembering the stories the common folk exchanged at his shop. Behind him were three lovely women accompanied by two knights. He recognized one of the knights as Ser Jorah Mormont. Everyone in the table stood for them and bowed their heads in respect. Gendry took in a deep breath, attempting to calm his nerves. Nothing good ever came from highborns, he thought, yet here he was. 

Jon Snow stepped forward towards the most regal looking woman Gendry had ever seen, and pressed a kiss on her hand, “My Queen.”

Gendry did not know what to expect of her. He had seen her from afar at the wall, but never got a close look. She was said to be beautiful, and that much was true. But he thought her strange, with silver curls braided intricately around her head like a crown. She held her nicely curved body gracefully, smiling sweetly at Jon Snow. He was reminded of the Red Woman’s exotic beauty, and turned his eyes to the women next to her.

The taller woman had dark skin and exotic curls that Gendry had seen on a couple of foreign merchants or whores. Arya was the other lady. She did not wear her Stark leathers, but rather a simple grey tunic adorned with a silver wolf pin. They settled around the table, Arya settling next to him.

She had let her hair down from the usual style that made her face look severe, and replaced the tight bun for two soft braids around the crown of her head. She did not look like the pretty maids from the songs, but there was a strange allure about her all the same. His eyes focused below her arm to see a belt around her waist with her sword. He grinned at her.

“M’Lady,” he said.

“I know its a curtesy,” Arya said under her breath, flickering her eyes to the Queen, “But call me that again, and I’ll carve out your lungs.”

Gendry chuckled and turned to face the Queen.

“Your Grace, its an honor to meet you,” Gendry said rather loudly, hoping it was the right thing to say. She seemed pleased enough, he thought in relief.

“This is Gendry Waters, Your Grace,” Jon Snow said.

Queen Daenerys eyed him for a silent moment before speaking, her yes seeing beyond him.

“You were there,” she said, “at the wall. You sent me the raven to go North.”

He had sent the raven that saved lives. But that raven had also brought a dragon’s death. For the first time since his voyage, he had understood the full consequence of his actions. He looked into her steely gaze and inhaled a sharp breath before looking down again.

“I did, your Grace,” he confessed.

“We owe him our lives, my Queen,” Ser Jorah said, “His bravery helped the realm be closer to peace.”

“Peace,” the Queen hummed, eyeing Ser Jorah. She regarded him again, “Lord Snow says you are Robert Baratheon’s son. Is it true?”

He heard Arya breath in sharply at his side. He didn’t look away from the Queen this time. It struck him that he might be an unlikely threat to her throne. Arya seemed to have the same thought, because she gripped his arm under the table.

“Yes, you’re Grace.”

Daenerys nodded, “I would never punish you for your father’s crimes. I hope you understand that.”

Gendry sighed in relief, “Of course, your Grace.”

“Some will say that you have a better claim to the throne than me,” she continued.

“I’m only a bastard,” he interrupted, “Your Grace."

“Bastards,” She said thoughtfully, looking at Jon, “Can make a name for themselves-“ She turned to him again, “They can become knights or lords or Kings. But I’m not here to threaten you. I am grateful for your bravery, you will always have a place at my table, Gendry.”

He breathed out his thanks and reassured her of his loyalties. Jon Snow smiled at her so tenderly, he felt as if he was being intrusive for watching. He wondered if the Queen returned his. The thought cheered Gendry. Perhaps bastards could rise high in the world after all. 

“You traveled with my brother beyond the wall?” Arya asked in a hushed tone.

“Yes,” he whispered back. He didn’t know why they were speaking so softly.

“Did you see them?” She breathed out, “The dead?”

He pictured the haunting blue eyes of the corpses. He suppressed a shiver and nodded. Arya moved as if to ask something else, but she was interrupted. 

“Lady Arya,” Tyrion Lannister called suddenly. 

She whipped her head to him, her fingers twitched towards her sword under the table, unseeing by all but Gendry. She fixated an unreadable look on her face. 

“It is said that you’ve traveled to Braavos and seen the work of the faceless men. I’ve read fascinating tales of their methods. What did you make of them?”

“We serve the same God,” she answered cautiously, “But I could not join them. The faceless men do as they are bid, kill who they must. Good or bad, when a name is promised, the Many-Faced God must have it. They asked for a name that I could not give."

Lord Tyrion’s eyes gleamed with wonder. He looked down at his cup of wine, thinking her words over.

“The Many-Faced God?” said Sansa Stark, frowning.

“Yes,” Tyrion explained, “It is said that all men serve the Many-Faced God. Every man’s Gods have a different reincarnation of Death, like the Stranger is for the Seven.”

“I never thought you a man of religion,” Sansa said.

“Regardless,” Arya said softly, “A man doesn’t have to believe in death. It comes for us all.”

Jon Snow took a big gulp of ale and slammed the horn loudly, sporting a pale face and a troubled look. 

“I don’t like talking about the bloody Gods,” Ser Davos grumbled.

Gendry wanted to laugh, but everyone else was tense. The Queen raised her glass, trying to defuse the tension with her soft smile.

“May we be our own Gods then,” She said, “And let us be the players of our own game.”

Everyone raised their glasses and drank to her toast. The mood had become more peaceful, as people ate their food and chatted amicably. Gendry tried to imagine what Braavos what like, and how Arya could have possible gone there alone. He thought of her Many-Faced God, and decided it made more sense than all the other foolish ones he had heard of. When he was younger, his master had told him that being a blacksmith was just like being a King in the eyes of the Seven, as one of the Seven was a Smith too, but Gendry had no taste for making wishes to the sky, he had only wanted to make mental bend under his touch. 

After the supper, Gendry walked Arya to her room around the vast castle. They kept their conversations light and short. When they reacher her door, Arya wrapped her arms around him so tightly, a complaint almost escaped him. He looked around, saw no one in the hall, and wrapped his own arms around her. 

“Thank you for keeping my brother alive,” she said. He could feel her hot breath on his skin.

Jon Snow was the White Wolf, he did not need any help staying alive, Gendry thought. He pulled back slightly to see her grey eyes, running his thumb on her temple.

“I’ll keep you safe from the dead too,” he promised.

But you do not need it either, he kept to himself, you have the Wolf Blood too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS
> 
> so I made a tumblr dedicated to Jonerys and GOT so if that interests you, I'm looking for Tumblr buddies haha. You can find me at "Violet-eyes-silver-Hair" and please message me any requests for fics or scenes, I'm all dried up haha. I can also draw fanart and edit videos, so if you have any requests for that don't be scared to hmu! 
> 
> Let me know in the comments what you'd like to see more of! I'm going to try to add some BIG jonerys exclusives soon so please don't give up on me!


	12. SANSA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is no longer a pawn of the game, she plays the thrones. Tyrion has a request. Daenerys is touched by kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOME POINTERS before you read this fic:
> 
> My works are open for interpretation but I'd like to point out this is NOT a Jonsa or Daensa chapter, as this is a Jonerys fic.
> 
> ALSO: I made a Tumblr VERY recently and I'm filling it with a LOT of extra headcanons and scenes that are not features here, so if you're interested, check me out at Violet-eyes-silver-hair (Jonerys blog)
> 
> I absolutely LOVE to interact with you guys in chats, and asks. Alright. Enjoy your fic!

SANSA

Inside her chambers, when it was dark outside, Sansa began to unravel her braids for sleep. It had been a long day, ending in a pleasant supper with her family and their trusted allies. Sansa did not know what to make of Robert’s bastard, except that he must have been a good man to be his sister’s friend. She did not think much of the lowborn men and women, especially the ones from King’s Landing, who had tried to murder her and worse. But the young man was nice enough, trying his best to be proper. Quite the difference from his own sister, but she was glad Arya had someone to be close with, even if it wasn’t herself. Ever since Petyr Baelish’s death, Sansa had wanted to become closer to her siblings more than ever. She would make amends for the way she had treated them when they were children, even if they had forgiven her for the petty actions. 

As she was unfastening her cloak, a knock came through her door. She fixed her cloak back, and opened it. Tyrion Lannister waited on the other end, fidgeting his hands at his sides. Sansa stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her. 

“I am very sorry to trouble you at this time of night, Lady Sansa, but there are pressing matters that we should discuss.”

Sansa nodded and began walking towards to her left, deeper into the castle.

“I fear my words are poison to some, and all walls have ears. Is there some place we could speak more openly?” he urged.

Sansa glanced around in the empty hallway, but she knew he was right. She nodded her head to the right, indicating for him to follow. They walked down the stairs to the exit.

"Of course, Lord Tyrion. The Godswood will do."

“I never properly thanked you for jumping to my brother’s defense,” he said, “And I apologize for my words earlier. You have never been a Lannister, the wolf blood will always run through your veins no matter who you marry.”

She nodded in acknowledgment, “I was always a Stark. I’ll always be a Stark, but I knew what it felt like to be a Lannister too. I was a pup in a Lion’s den, everyone sneered at me or tormented me. I’m sorry if you have to face the same here, Lord Tyrion.”

He shrugged, “Lannister or not, I’m still a dwarf. But I meant what I said, your word is valuable, especially in here.”

She had been accustomed to hearing bleak praise everywhere she went, but she couldn’t help but feel warm at his words. They reached the entrance of the Godswood, guarded by two Stark men. They let them pass, with orders of not allowing anyone in. Tyrion hugged his cloak tighter to himself. Once he was sure they were away from prying ears, he began talking.

“Your brother is a fine man,” he mused, “Brave, honorable, good in battle. A bastard turned Lord Commander is not unheard of, and King in the North, truly an accomplishment.”

“But?” She asked, knowing what he was going to say, but not daring to taint her brother’s reputation even more by agreeing right away.

“He’s not good at politics, for someone who was King. He could be more careful, about-“ Tyrion sighed, “About certain things.”

“You think he’s a fool because he’s fond of Daenerys?” She offered.

Tyrion swallowed, “Many men have grown fond of Daenerys. Only a few dare to demand her affection in return.”

She chuckled, shaking her head, “Well he doesn’t need to demand, since she’s offering it so openly.”

Tyrion looked troubled, so she sighed and sat down by the Weirwood tree. Her bottom felt cold, but she motioned for Tyrion to sit by her as well.

“The lords of the North already think she’s mad for sailing with eunuchs and Dothraki. By being at her side, he gives her a fowl name. A foreign whore, who won the Kingdoms from her bed. Your brother is a bastard made King, but he clearly doesn’t want the Northern throne, let alone the Seven Kingdoms-"

“The Seven Kingdoms?” Sansa exclaimed, “Why would he-“

“Daenerys risked her life for him, her dragons' lives,” he pressed, "She might risk her throne as well. She is not only a woman, but a Queen. If Jon Snow is going to be at her side when she takes the Seven Kingdoms, they need to do it properly. I couldn’t arrange a better match myself, a King for a Queen. But I will not allow her to forget why she’s here. Someone needs to take the throne from Cersei, we both know that. We can’t wage war for the throne without them. Daenerys will not take the throne unless he is at her side. I need your help to make sure Jon Snow is at her side.”

Sansa breathed out, her heart pounding. She had not thought about the implications of Jon marrying Daenerys. She thought of her own travels to King’s Landing, and all the horrors that happened there. Stark men don’t fare well down south. She knew he was right, but she did not want to let her brother go.

“Your Queen already asked for our blessing in their marriage. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s agreed to it already,” she said, trying to sound neutral.

Tyrion sighed, and took her hands into his. The urgency in his eyes startled her. Sansa realized that he had nothing left to fight for, except the realm and his Queen.

“They could marry in secret, as man and wife, run away together, and leave the Seven Kingdoms turn to ashes after the enemy to the North is defeated,” The dwarf told her, "Or they could marry as King and Queen, and launch a dynasty of a thousand years. Jon Snow does not want the throne, he does not want to leave his family and his home-“ he squeezed her hands, “- but he must."

She did not remove her hands from his, but looked around the Godswood in silent thought.

“Once they marry, Daenerys will be his family, and any children she gives him. I want my brother to be happy-" she squeezed his hand back, “- And I want to see Cersei dead.”

He did not say anything after that, but they walked in a comfortable silence back to her chambers. She bid him a goodnight, closed the door when he left, and turned back to undressing for sleep. The next morning, Sansa dressed quickly and continued sowing a new project. She had begun the work on the cloak a couple of days back, and paid it all the attention she could. While she sewed, she lost herself in thoughts.

No matter how many times she reassured herself that Daenerys was trustworthy, a part of her wanted to scream of how foolish she was for trusting her. Every time she was alone, she could feel Ramsey’s and Joffrey’s scars on her skin, and hear Cerise’s words, tormenting her even now. She placed her hand gingerly under the curve of her breast, shivering at the memory of the abuse it had endured. But when she had made up her mind to distrust the Dragon Queen, her efforts were crushed. 

Daenerys was a good ruler, just and kind, much like Margaery might have been. Sansa thought, if Margaery had lived, perhaps she would back Tommen’s claim to the throne and live a peaceful life in Winterfell. But Margaery did not live, Cersei had made sure of that. Margaery wanted to be my sister, she thought, perhaps Daenerys will want that too. The thought once comforted her in King’s Landing, but now, it only felt numb in her head. Sansa would not hate the Dragon Queen, but she could not deny feeling deeply saddened when she looked at her. Arya had liked Daenerys well enough, perhaps they will grow closer than she and Sansa ever could. She had never gotten along with Jon as children, but Sansa did not want him to leave their side at Winterfell. Every time a wolf left the cave, the pack grew smaller. And there was Bran too- sweet, fearless Bran, turned to icy stone, with his broken little legs. He had came to the Kingslayer’s defense, claiming that he would not be the three-eyed raven if it weren’t for him. That made her hate him even more.

In her thinking, she had forgotten what she had been doing, and pierced her finger with a needle. She flinched back in surprise and sucked at the bloody finger, admonishing herself for her carelessness. She picked up the fabric she had been sewing for inspection, and decided her work was done. Carefully as if not to disrupt the decoration, she nicked the thread off her sewing needle, and tucked the loose end with tender hands. Myranda might have been a cunt, but she was right about some things. Whenever Sansa sewed, she could feel like her lady mother. The work was one of her finest. Multiple dragons weaved on the fabric, silver, red, and white, breathing shining beads that were clearly meant to be fire. The fabric connected a dark grey cloak with white furs outlining the edges, for the harsh cold. The pure white fur to line the cloak had been hard to find, but she would not settle for less. She had seen Daenerys don the prettiest gowns on the land, and she wanted to make sure her gift was no lesser beautiful. 

She wrapped it attentively and made her way to the Queen’s quarters. It was very early in the morning, but surely, she thought, a Queen would wake up before anyone else. She knocked on the door several times, and waited nervously as she heard shuffling on the other side. She was prepared to face the Queen’s unflinching gaze, but the eyes that received her were just as bold.

“Morning, Brother,” she offered, as he closed the door behind him. 

He was fully dressed in his Stark tunic and leathers, with his sword at his hip. He breathed out and smiled uncomfortably. 

“I, uh-“ Jon chuckled nervously, “-I wasn’t expecting to see anyone this early.”

She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. When she had been a child, she would have made a fuss about Jon’s recklessness. Back then, the knights in her songs always waited after a wedding to join their wives in bed. But she was not a fool now, and she did not judge her brother as she might have done once. Still, it unnerved her to see him being so careless around the Northmen, who already called Daenerys a whore behind their backs. 

“I thought these were the Queen’s quarters,” she said jokingly.

Jon bowed his head, but smiled, “Go on then. I’m sure she would appreciate the company.”

Sansa nodded as he moved on, and knocked on the door again.

“I’ll be right there,” the Queen’s voice called. 

For a wild moment, Sansa thought she had heard the sound of gagging and heavy breathing, but after a moment, Daenerys opened the door.

She was dressed in another lovely garb, with dark textures curving along her body. Although she was fully covered, it reminded her again of the sort of thing Margaery would wear. 

Sansa came in the room, “Good morning, Your Grace. I just wanted to see how well you were faring.”

Daenerys smiled pleasantly and walked closer to the fire. In the light, she could see purple circles under her tired eyes. The Queen was as pale as snow.

“I had been feeling a bit peaked earlier, but I assure you I’m no more frail.”

Sansa was not convinced, but she agreed all the same, “Perhaps I could ask our Maester for some Pepper water.”

The Queen’s nose twitched in disgust, but the movement was so quick, Sansa might have imagined it. She bowed her head in thanks but denied the kindness. Sansa also noted the Queen’s hair was not in its usual braids, but loose over her shoulders. She knew that the previous gagging sound must have meant Daenerys was ill. They both sat down in front of the fire. 

“Is there something I could do for you, Lady Sansa?” 

Sansa was not going to touch the subject of her visit right away, so she took the parcel out from her cloak and offered it to Daenerys. Curiously, she took it in her hands and unwrapped it, a sweet smile on her face.

“I thought you might want another cloak to shield you from the winter chill,” she said, “And the dragons are the sigil of your house, so I just thought-“

Daenerys interrupted her talking by standing up and giving her an abrupt hug. Sansa was so dumbfounded at first, it took her a second before returning the hug and wrapping her arms around the Queen. She did not know if this was proper behavior, even if Daenerys was going to become her sister by law. Daenerys sighed happily before pulling away, and gave Sansa and gorgeous grin. Whatever else she was, the Queen was very beautiful, and she could not bring herself to blame Jon for his actions. She could feel herself growing less wary, and being flooded with approval. Good, she thought, Jon deserves someone that makes him happy.

“Its-“ Daenerys began, eyeing the cloak and struggling to find words for the first time, “It has been a while since someone gave me something without wanting something in return.”

Sansa did not want to ask much of the Queen, but a flood of guilt tugged at her belly nonetheless. 

She made herself smile, “I thought you had a brother in Essos?”

Daenerys did not answer right away. She turned her eyes to the embroidered fabric and touched it lightly with her fingers. She chose her words carefully, raising her eyes.

“My brother,” she said, “Was not kind as your brother is. We never had wealth, only our family heirlooms, but those disappeared too. The biggest gift he gave me was a place to spend the night, but even that was not his to give. It was only because of our name and our house that we were able to survive.”

Sansa furrowed her brows, “I thought you grew up in Braavos?”

“I did. . . for a time,” She said, watching Sansa’s reaction, “Don’t pity me, my Lady. Sometimes I think that I am only here because my father was murdered. If he hadn’t been, perhaps I would have grown to be a mad princess, married to some high lord or another. The roads I’ve taken led me to my children, and to your brother too. Even if the world is collapsing, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

Sansa had suffered every single day since she left Winterfell, but Daenerys never had a Winterfell. She never had a mother to teach her to sew, or a father’s knee to sit on as a child. Even if she had, the mad King would have made an ill father. Rhaegar Targaryen had turned as sick as Aerys, but she did not dare voice the thought to the Queen. They were still her kin. Instead, Sansa nodded silently.

“You’re very talented, my Lady. Is it red and black for Targaryen, and Silver for Stark?” Daenerys asked.

Sansa swallowed, not knowing if the Queen seemed bothered by it, “I just figured, since its our family colors-“

Daenerys interrupted again, with a reassuring smile, “I love it. Its a wonderful cloak. Thank you.”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile as Daenerys admired her gift. The Queen could not keep herself from grinning giddily. Despite her dark circles and messy hair, she looked more radiant than any other woman Sansa had seen. 

“Would you like for me to braid your hair? Since your handmaidens haven’t arrived? I suppose you did not want them to see Jon?”

The Queen did not flush, but she looked uncomfortable all the same. Sansa regretted her choice of words.

“I’m sorry, it was not proper of me to point out such things. But I don’t think less of you both, truly,” she tried to amend.

With watchful eyes, Daenerys regarded her carefully, and gave a faint smile, “Yes alright, thank you.”

Sansa crossed the room for a hairbrush, and brushed Daenerys’ silver hair until the tangles gave away. Sansa was reminded of her lady mother, and the way she had brushed her hair in that very room. She parted the crown hair in half, and braided the top halves in the Northern fashion that kept it out of her eyes. 

“I wanted to give you the cloak,” she started, “but I also want to . . . to confirm, some things. . .”

Daenerys tensed under her touch, “Alright.”

“Are you going to marry Jon?”

“Oh,” she chuckled, “Hopefully, if the plan goes through.”

Sansa smiled, “Will it happen soon?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, sighing, “Jon Snow is honorable, he does not like breaking tradition. He does not like deceiving his lords. I am not ashamed of-“ she paused, “Of my affections for him. When the dead come, and if one of us were to die-“

They both drew sharp breaths, Sansa tugged hard at the braid by accident, but Daenerys did not complain. She went on.

“I don’t want to spend our last days together in the shadows,” she finished.

“Then what’s stopping you?” Sansa defied. 

“We can’t spare the food or the time for a wedding. The long night could arrive at any moment, we cannot be the source of distraction in times like these. Men become drunk, reckless! The Dothraki-“ She breathed out in frustration,“Their traditions are more liberated . . . less tame. It is their way, a royal wedding could cause for them-“

“They will behave accordingly if their Queen commands them. They crossed a continent for you, I’m sure they could comport for a single night. I’m only here because my brother deserves happiness, as I am sure you do too. He grew up as a bastard, he dislikes being King, but I know that you make him happy."

The braids were not the usual silver braids on each side of her head, but rather two tightly braided rows on the top of her scalp that trailed down into an interlaced plait over the rest of the loose hair. She took one of the Queen’s silver dragon pins and pinned it on the top of the braid. When she looked at Daenerys’ face, she was surprised to see the Queen smiling down at the cloak, and running her hands through the colorful beads. The Queen must have been truly touched by the familiar act, and it warmed Sansa, remembering the way Margaery wanted to be her sister. 

They broke their fast together, conversing about their travels and such. Daenerys’ smiled often, her eyes resting on her new cloak. Sansa reached a hand for the bowl of figs, but found it empty under her touch. 

“I’m sorry about that, I ate all the fruit I could find earlier. I can’t say I get enough,” she admitted.

Sansa held her breath for a moment, thinking of the Queen’s illness, her eyes darting to Daenerys’ stomach. She shook her head at her own silly thoughts, and smiled pleasantly. 

“It’s quite alright, your Grace.”

After that, they walked together towards the room where the small council was going to meet, when Jon joined them in the hall.

“Alright there?” he said while spotting them, smiling. 

Jon had never been a cheerful child, and he had grown to be a gloomy man, so it melted Sansa's heart to see the way he looked at Daenerys. He was pushing Bran’s chair, alongside the bulky man called Samwell Tarly.

“I thought we were holding a counsel?” Sansa asked, confused.

“Bran had a vision a while ago. There are some matter to discuss,” Samwell said, uneasily.

Jon held out his hand, and Daenerys took it, “Come, to the crypts with us. He says we should all be there for this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion + Sansa = #1 Jonerys shippers
> 
> ALSO: I made a Tumblr VERY recently and I'm filling it with a LOT of extra headcanons and scenes that are not features here, so if you're interested, check me out at Violet-eyes-silver-hair (Jonerys blog)
> 
> Leave comments here, I thrive on them. Next chapter: R + L = J oooooo


	13. DANY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R + L = J

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT WARNING 18+

DANY

“Jon,” Samwell Tarly called, “Well, its just, I don’t think everyone else should hear this.”

He moved closer to Sam, so they could speak in low voices, but did not let go of Dany’s hand. She could feel the anxiousness in his voice, and it made her own belly squirm in discomfort. 

Jon furrowed his brows, “I don’t like keeping secrets, and Bran said-“

“They need to know the truth. You. Daenerys. Everyone in the realm needs to know,” Jon’s brother said. His empty voice unsettled her. Her hands were cold and clammy.

“Bran, it really would be best if we could speak to Jon alone,” Sam insisted in a low whisper.

Brandon Stark turned to face her. He did not truly frighten her, but she took a step back all the same.

“Do you trust all of these people?” Bran asked her, “Would they stay at your side, no matter what?”

She nodded, “I trust them with my life.”

“Jon? Do you trust everyone down there?” Sam urged, as if he wanted desperately for Jon to say no.

He looked indecisive. The apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Jon faced her with soft eyes, and his jaw set.

“I do,” he answered

Samwell huffed out a frustrated breath, and for a moment, Dany agreed with him. Whatever was about to be said, it seemed personal. But Jon trusted her, and wanted for her to be there, and all their advisors. She could see the shadows of the Northern Kings cast in the stone floor. The sight made her inexplicably nervous, but she raised her chin. I am the blood of the Dragon, she chanted in her mind, I must not be afraid.

Daenerys tugged at Jon's arm slightly while everyone made their way down to the crypts. She pulled him aside, so they were almost hidden in the shadows of the wall. They watched from the side as everyone marched down the stairs. Ser Jorah and Samwell carried Brandon’s chair carefully down the steps. Everyone was sobered by the sight of the crypts, for the talking had ceased. Only Sansa and Arya exchanged low conversation as they stepped deeper into the tunnel, and out of their view. Jon was about to go down the steps himself when she tugged at his arm.

“Maybe Sam is right. I don’t belong down there,” Daenerys said. 

He smiled, squeezing her hand, “You’re with me, it’s alright.”

He thinks I’m frightened, Dany thought. Was she scared? She could not say. There was no denying the silent presence of hundred of Northern Kings, ruling over their stone thrones. 

“I’m not afraid,” she decided, “But I don’t belong down there."

“Because you’re not a Stark?” he asked, nodding in understanding, “Well, I’m not a Stark either."

She wanted to protest, assure him that he was the blood of the wolf, but his words calmed her down. She did not need to speak to be understood. He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed his back. That all the exchange they needed. They climbed down the stone steps, hand in hand. 

They lagged behind the main group, but not by much. Despite the many torches and braziers, Daenerys felt a chill seep into her bones. She hadn’t felt this cold since she ventured beyond the wall. She stepped closer to Jon, who seemed to radiate heat from his skin. If he had felt the same terrible chill as they walked further into the tunnels, he did not show it. 

“Why are we down here, Bran?” Jon asked.

She didn’t know if it was the cold, or because Samwell huffed out another nervous breath, but the hairs on her skin began to rise. Bran wheeled himself closer to a woman’s statue. She didn’t look like any woman Dany had ever seen, but she thought even in stone, she looked beautiful. 

“Robert’s rebellion,” he began in his detached voice, “The war that ended the Targaryen Dynasty-“ everyone looked at her, except Bran himself “- it was built on a lie. What we were taught, what my father fought for, it was all a lie.”

Jon swallowed thickly, “What do you mean?”

Bran looked up at his brother’s voice, but he turned to face her, “Daenerys is not the heir to the Iron throne.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, letting Jon’s hand fall away. She looked at Tyrion for some explanation, but he was just as wide-eyed as she. She licked her lips nervously and stepped forward. 

“Is this some sort of trick?” she demanded.

He shook his head, turning back to the statue, “There is another. He has the dragon’s blood in his veins. Son of your brother Rhaegar.”

“Aegon Targaryen,” provided Tyrion, shaking his head, “He was killed when he was just a babe at his mother’s breast.”

“Yes he was killed,” Bran agreed, “But he was not.”

An uneasy pause hung in the air. Daenerys felt her throat tighten. Could it be that she still had family? Shared someone’s blood? 

She took another impatient step, “What does that mean?”

“Your brother wanted to have three children, but Elia Martell could only give him two. Aegon and Rhaenys were killed. But before that-“

“The dragon must have three heads,” She murmured, like remembering a distant dream. 

“So he took our Aunt Lyanna, to make a child with her,” Sansa hissed.

“See, that was the lie of the war,” Samwell interrupted, unable to contain himself, "Rhaegar never took Lyanna, they ran away to Dorne. He annulled his marriage to Elia and married her instead.” 

He took out an old leather journal from his cloak, handing it to Jon with shaking hands. Jon took it gingerly, and read the page Sam was pointing to.

“I was given this diary to transcribe. It was a Maester’s diary. Its proof that he married them in Dorne. And their child-“ His voice broke, looking at Jon anxiously, “Well their child would be the heir!”

Her advisors glanced at one another, unsure of what to do. Jon placed a hand on her shoulder, waiting for a reaction. Truly, it was hard to understand what she felt.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion spoke up, “This child is no threat to our cause. If he lives, we can arrange to make him support your claim.”

Daenerys ignored him. Happiness and fear mingled in her beating heart, making her breaths more abrupt. She crouched in front of Bran’s chair and gripped his sides.

“Is he alive?” She whispered, “My brother’s child, where is he?”

Bran’s eyes focused on her, not giving away his thoughts, “Lyanna died giving birth to her son, Aegon. Only my father knew the truth. She made him promise to keep her son safe. But Aegon Targaryen could have never lived safely under Robert’s rule. He had to become someone else. My father raised him as his own son. He was raised here, in Winterfell. He was man grown and a northerner, never knowing his birthright or his true name.”

Dany's muscles seemed to freeze, but she willed them to allow her to stand up, to face him. Her jaw was clenched taut, but her eyes scanned him, looking for a sign of treachery or shock. His face was as blank as her own, but his eyes were looking around at everyone else. 

Jon shook his head in disbelief, “You can’t possibly think-“

“Father was the most honorable man we ever knew,” Sansa said, as if she had just realized it, “He could have never fathered a bastard.”

Daenerys knew she was right, but she still glanced at Jon nervously, waiting for him to tell her it was some cruel joke. His eyes met hers again, and he seemed to be waiting for the same thing. He swallowed hard, breaking their eye contact. 

“You’re the heir,” Arya breathed out, “The Iron Throne, The Seven Kingdoms-“

“I’m not,” He said, looking at Bran, “Whatever it is you think you saw, its not true. I’m not-“ Jon’s breath hitched, “Ned Stark was my father.”

“Jon,” Sam said softly, “I know it must be a shock, but, he wasn’t. Rhaegar Targaryen was your father, the proof is in your hands.”

Jon threw him a scathing look and for a wild moment, Daenerys was sure he was about to strike him. Instead, Jon moved closer to the flaming brazier and faced it as his breaths became sharper. 

“Its just some old book, it means nothing!” he exclaimed, throwing the journal inside the brazier. Dany’s breath hitched. 

The book began to smoke, as the edges curled and the cover melted. Daenerys made her way to Jon, not looking into his gaze. She stretched out her hand into the flames and reached for the book. Jon’s hand gripped her wrist, trying to keep hers from burning. She did not look at him, but reached out for the book with her other hand. He must have felt the flame’s burn, because he released her from his grip. She patted the burning edges with her hands to put out the growing fire, and opened it to its last pages. Jon let out another shaky breath, surprised to see her unharmed skin. She read the pages and delicately traced the words with her finger. 

The truth seemed to swallow her. Her brother had not been the monster they said he was. Her family had not entirely left her, because Jon was truly the blood of the dragon. My nephew, she realized, I’m in love with my nephew. The thought did not shake her as it should had, but that didn’t worry her either. Her worries had not left her, but they were frozen in her blood instead, unable to be expressed. 

The sound of drawn steel broke her out of her thoughts, she turned around to see Ser Jorah with his sword out. 

“Khaleesi, your reign doesn’t have to end here,” Jorah urged, "None of this news ought to leave this place, if you command me-“

Arya Stark drew out her own sword, “To kill us?,” she challenged, "You want to kill my family, you can die trying.”

“Put your sword down, Ser,” Tyrion spat, “No one is going to be butchered.”

Daenerys strode towards Jorah. Her hands were shaking. She could not find her voice. He moved in front of her, as if to protect her.

“You only need to give the command, Khaleesi,” he said, striding towards Jon.

Jon faced him with wide eyes, not reaching for his own sword. His eyes darted to Jorah’s face and her own, wondering if she would betray him. The sight made Daenerys break away from the shock. She moved in between the two men, turned to face Ser Jorah, and smacked him across the face with her shaking hand. His sword fell with a clatter to the floor. He stepped closer to her. 

“Khaleesi,” he murmured. 

“Get out,” she commanded, stepping back, closer to Jon. 

Arya Stark sheathed her sword, “You don’t give the commands here, not anymore.”

She made her way to her cousin, the man she had always thought to be her brother, “Jon, come on, we can talk somewhere else.”

Arya reached to touch his arm, but he flinched away. He turned back to the burning brazier, unable to meet her eyes.

“Leave us,” He finally said.

Sansa licked her lips nervously and made her way cautiously to Jon, “You’re our brother Jon, you’ll always be-“

“Just leave,” he said, facing their advisors and family, “all of you.”

“I will not leave you alone with with him,” Jorah argued.

“Get. Out,” she snarled. 

Varys put a hand in Jorah’s shoulder, turning him away from them. Resigned, he picked up his sword and sheathed it. Her advisors walked back to the entrance followed by Bran and Samwell. Arya stared at Jon, disheartened by his detachment. Sansa curled her arm around her sister’s shoulder and pulled her away.

“Come on,” she sighed. 

Arya’s eyes glazed with tears as they walked away. She glanced back at them, and Daenerys thought that the girl might have loathed her. After they were gone, she slid against the wall next to the brazier and sat on the stone floor. She gripped the book tightly, with half a mind to weep and a half a mind to laugh hysterically at the face of madness. Jon unbuckled his sword belt, and slide down the wall next to her, fingering the wolf pommel of his sword. 

“The throne is all I’ve ever wanted since my dragons hatched,” she said softly, “But I can’t think of anyone that would be a better king than you.”

Jon shook his head in disagreement. But it took her a moment to realize he was shaking, unwilling to cry out. She reached out, grabbing hold of his hand. He pushed away his sword and pulled her into his arms. She snaked her own arms around him and curled her fingers through his hair. He buried his face into her shoulder, letting out shaking breaths, and holding her so tightly, it was hard to breath. She had never seen him so vulnerable, unable to control himself. 

After a while, his breaths slowed and he loosened his hold on her. Dany wished he hadn’t, unsure of what to do now. She pulled back to look into his dark eyes. Jon kissed her forehead, and stood up, pulling her up with him. He took a torch from the wall, and took her hand again. They walked deeper into the crypts, away from the family he had known. 

“Fire can’t hurt you,” he spoke up, after minutes of silent walking.

“No,” she agreed, “Fire cannot kill a dragon.”

He huffed out a misty breath and walked some more before speaking again, “The throne is yours, Daenerys. I’ll never try to take it from you.”

Dany stopped walking and cupped his face, “I know.” She took the torch from his hands and propped it in one of the iron mounts on the wall. Then she turned again, taking both of his hands in hers. “But I wanted you to have it, even before tonight. I wanted you at my side, remember? As my King.”

Jon stepped closer. “You’re my blood,” he stated.

“I am,” she conceded, “Does that sicken you?”

He paused, taking in a deep breath. 

“It should,” he rumbled, “Does it bother you?”

“No.”

“No,” he echoed, placing his hands on her waist. 

They both held their breaths for a moment. She searched his eyes as they gazed at her body, her lips, then finally back to her eyes. They were both vulnerable, their fears and desire exposed clearly in the torch light. His hands squeezed her waist tighter, pulling her closer to him.

“Are you sure?” Daenerys whispered. 

“I thought I knew who I was. No matter where I went or what I did, I was always Ned Stark’s son. But all along, I never even knew my own name. Someday, I might be your King, but I might also die tomorrow, or the day after that,” he said, “I’m not sure of anything at all, except I want you by my side, until the end, whenever that might be.”

Daenerys brought her hands to his hair, pulling him closer, “You’re Jon Snow.”

She gave his lip a small bite before kissing him, pushing her tongue inside his mouth. He responded with a rousing growl and pulled her down to the ground with him. She struggled to breath in between the rough kisses, her hands fondling his hair as his hands unclasped her cloak, seeking out her bust. She ultimately unlaced her own dress, but he did not wait for her to undress fully before lunging on her again. Jon pulled down the bodice and freed her breasts, squeezing them with both hands before taking a firm nipple into his mouth. She cried out in pleasant surprise when he bit it, but the aching only made her crave him more. He ravaged her breasts as he never had before, starved for the comfort and warmth they gave him. Dany let out another soft gasp and tugged at his curls to encourage him. 

Anyone might have said that it was sickly to take each other in front of the Kings of Winter, but like their dragons, Targaryens answered to neither Gods nor men. Impulsively, Daenerys pushed him aside and tugged at his clothes. He let out a chuckle before throwing his gorget aside, the iron one embellished with the Direwolves of Winterfell. Not a wolf, she thought approvingly, he’s a dragon, like me. They were infatuated, longing to have everything, but not willing to wait. She quit trying to rid him of all his clothes, and focused on freeing him length from the breeches. He must have understood what she wanted, or must have wanted it himself, because he slid a hand under her dress and groped around until his hand found her entrance. Eagerly, she rolled her hips against his hand until she found his manhood and placed her self right over it. 

A throaty grunt escaped Jon when he was inside her. She couldn’t rid him of all his clothes, but she felt comfortable enough pressed against his leathers. Her already tender nipples ached in the cold air, so she pressed them against his chest. She slammed herself down on his length a few times before he held her down again and began to thrust in and out. She gasped again when his pace began to quicken, taking her faster than any other time they had coupled. Daenerys wrapped her legs around him and rolled them over, mounting him earnestly. His breath hitched when she moved on top, but he snickered in amusement after she began to take control. Sitting up, he grabbed a hold of her waist again and kissed her. He nipped at her lower lip, one of his hands rising to squeeze at her breast. It was her turn to chuckle. The whole situation should have been sickening, infuriating even, but it only drove her mad with lust. 

After a few more maddening thrusts, he settled his head on her shoulder, grunting as his seed was spent. He was still gasping for air, but his hand began to work circles on her nub so that she could join him in the climax. She tightened her hold on him, sticking to him with sweat as her cunt throbbed and her body rippled. She finished on his hand, releasing all her worries and tension. He wasn’t hers to command, much like she wasn’t his to own. He lifted his head to look at her again, still struggling to find his breath. She let out a shaky chuckle, leaning their foreheads together. His breaths came out in a mist, but for the first time since climbing down the stone steps, she didn’t feel cold. 

Despite everything that had happened, Jon smiled.

“Jon Snow,” he sighed, “of House Targaryen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had EIGHTY-EIGHT PEOPLE request cryptsex (you sick fuckers haha) so HERE IT IS
> 
> Let me dissect this if you didn't understand, Jon doesn't have a problem with being a Targaryen. Jon has a problem with not being Ned Stark's son. Two different things. Stay in touch, sorry it took 34567 years to write this chapter, it was a very special one!!!
> 
> FOLLOW ME IN TUMBLR @Violet-eyes-silver-hair FOR MORE UPDATES OR JONERYS TRASH.
> 
> YOU CAN MAKE REQUESTS FOR ONE SHOTS OR HEADCANONS BECAUSE I LOVE YOU AND I WONT DENY YOU <3<3<3
> 
> I love to talk to you guys so please comment below or follow me in tumblr. Okay, byes!


	14. JON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Jon bring each other comfort. Jon copes with his new-found knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW its short, and I KNOW this is LoOOONG overdue, but its been hard to write for this fic haha! DONT PUT my head on a spike for how short and tiny this is, MORE TO COME SOON (hopefully)

JON

After their moment of passion on the stone ground, Jon crouched behind Daenerys, tenderly adjusting her dress. His heart and mind were still racing from the revelation of his parentage and the reckless coupling that followed it. He was too preoccupied and distracted in his thoughts to regret the act. He did not feel guilt, only anger and confusion, and lust. His fingers fumbled as he clumsily secured her lacings, but she did not rush him or complain. Daenerys sat patiently, her eyes as distant as his own. She was the only other person who had been robbed from her identity that day. The only one who had been equally shocked by the new found knowledge. 

They both took comforting in the other’s touch, he thought, steading one of his hands at her waist. Even if it was in front of the old kings of winter. These might have been his ancestors by blood, but he did not know them. The only thing that remained of them the dust of their bodies and their family name. If it hadn’t been for Maester Lurwin’s teachings, he might have never even learned they existed at all. Even so, the boy that pored over books of history alongside Robb had lived before Winter, and Jon hardly remembered that time at all. 

I owe them nothing, he thought defiantly, looking up at the stone face of one of the Kings whose name he did not recall. He was reminded of the many nightmares that had haunted him even after joining the Night’s Watch. The Kings of Winter frightening a young boy whose name would never be Stark. I might not have the Stark name, but I’m as much a King of Winter as they are, he reassured himself. My name is Snow, father always said I was the North. Eddard Stark’s face flashed in his mind, and his breath caught in his throat again. Daenerys must have felt his hands tense, because she turned to face him. He adverted her gaze, and looked further into the dark tunnel. 

“Tell me what bothers you ,” she hummed softly. 

At her words, Jon’s thoughts turned wildly to Catlyn Tully. If she could see me now, would she hate me still? or beg for my forgiveness? He suspected the former. He clenches his jaw, thinking angrily of his father. If she had known the truth, she wouldn’t have hated me, he thought accusingly, and perhaps I would have had a mother to care for me. He turned to blame his father for not telling her, for not telling him, but the anger died out in a beat, and was replaced by sickly, hot guilt. Jon had always thought that everything Lord Stark did was the right choice. Father was protecting me, he thought. But then a colder feeling sank his heart. Ned Stark was not his father, but his uncle. His true father was Rhaegar Targaryen, a man whose face he has never known. 

“Jon,” Dany spoke again, her voice etched with worry. 

Daenerys cupped his cheek, moving his face so he would look at her. He let out the breath he had been holding, pressing his trembling hand on top of hers, and leaning into the warmth. As her thumb caressed his cheek, he allowed his eyes to close under her touch. 

“Would you like to go outside now?” Dany asked. 

When he had first met her, he had thought her cold and unyielding. How wrong he had been about that. Daenerys was proud and fierce, that much was true, but she was far from cold. Jon had come to know her gentle heart, her sweetness. Whenever she approached her dragons, men saw a goddess threading with death, but Jon had seen the caring mother, trying to protect her children as if they were defenseless babes still at her breast. He wanted to smile down and kiss her again, but he had only enough energy and focus to shake his head. 

“Not yet.”

She sighed, but said nothing, bringing her hand to his hair and massaging with it her fingers. They remained in a comfortable silence for some time. He tried to focus on the feel of her fingers against his skin. His brow and hair were still slick with sweat, but she did not seem to care. 

“You ought to talk to your sisters,” she began again, “Whenever you’re ready.”

He knew she was right, but the prospect made his stomach churn. A distant part of him wondered if this is what it felt like to have a mother. If so, Daenerys would be a good one. Then he remembered what she had said about not being able to carry a child, and felt unreasonable guilt coiling in at his throat. He wished he could give her children of her own blood, so that they could love and protect them. In truth, he didn’t know if he could protect Daenerys, let alone a child. The Night King’s face swarm before the darkness, and he opened his eyes to meet her gaze. 

“Alright,” he murmured, getting to his feet. He extended his hand and helped her rise too. He inhaled a deep breath, bidding himself to speak, “The dead march upon us. I can’t lead them if I’ve lost my wits in here.”

“You won’t,” she said, taking his the torch in one hand, and his hand in the other, “I won’t allow you to."

Jon chuckled softly, squeezing her hand. He knew she spoke truly, and would never allow him to lose sight of himself. Tyrion had once told him that Daenerys had appointed him as her hand to temper her impulses, but Jon suspected that he could do an even better job of it. In return, he liked to think that she would Being King in the North had been a dreary task, but he could not deny that the prospect of ruling by Daenerys made him both tense and excited. 

They had to walk past several dark tunnels before reaching the most recent one. The one that had once only held the corpses Rickard, Brandon, and Lyanna Stark, family he had never known. It was more crowded now, he noted grimly, with his father and brothers bones to further the line of dead Starks. Not my father, he thought again. But his mother’s statue had been here all along. Jon must have walked past her hundreds of times during his childhood, unaware of the truth that her tomb held. 

The brazier still burned hot in there, so Daenerys hung up the torch on the wall. She curled herself against Jon’s arm and looked up at the stone woman. Jon watched her as she appraised the figure, wondering what they should do now that they knew the truth. Eddard Stark had promised to tell him about his mother when they reunited. He was the most honorable man Jon had known, yet he could not help but to wonder if he would have told him the truth. He turned his head to look into his statue, trying to remember everything that he had taught him. 

“When I was a boy I wanted to be a knight or a prince. I knew I would never be a lord, so I decided to take the black. I thought perhaps I could win Glory and be known as something else that Ned Stark’s bastard. It didn’t matter at the wall, or beyond the wall, with the free-folk, I was always Ned Stark’s bastard. Its the only thing I knew,” he exhaled deeply, “But I’m not even that.”

Daenerys considered his words, now looking at the row of statues. 

“No, you’re not,” she agreed, making his stomach twist once again, “You’re more than that. You’re a King, and a Targaryen.”

She moved closer to him and placed a hand on his heart, where a knife had once gone through the flesh, “And you’re Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s son.”

Jon pulled her into a tight embrace and placed his hand at the nape of her neck, stroking her hair. They both watched the flames flickering across the stone faces when it occurred to him that Daenerys needed his comfort too. He knew his discovery had been more sentimental, but he thought he ought to say something to her nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry, Dany, I know you were hoping to meet your family. But you should know, blood or not, I-“ he swallowed, “I would have liked being your family.” 

“Its better this way, I think. I wouldn’t have liked to have another mad person share my name but you-“ she smiled, “Well, you’re the best person I know.”

He kissed the back of her hand and led her up the stone steps. Once outside, everyone looked startled at their joint hands, but neither of them cared. Jon saw Maester Wolkan gazing straight at them, his mouth gaping slightly, but once his eyes met Jon’s, he dropped his head. 

“Alright," she said, determined, "let’s go find your sisters.”


	15. ARYA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark girls worry about their brother and the future of the alliance with the Dragon Queen. Arya has never liked beating around the bush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because its not a Jon OR Dany chapter doesn't mean it doesn't have your dose of Jonerys so please read!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, I took my sweet sweet time drafting this one. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: @Violet-eyes-silver-hair for more Jonerys art, fics, and one shots.

ARYA

“Maybe it isn’t true,” she suggested, twirling her Valyrian-steel dagger to keep her hands busy, “Maybe Daenerys made it up to turn Jon in her favor.”

Arya knew it was a weak alternative, but it felt better to blame somebody. She paced the Winterfell study restlessly, while her sister sat still in front of the fire. At first glance, Sansa seemed composed, as if she had just been told there would be porridge for supper. But her eyes were distant and calculating. Arya thought they looked eerily reminiscent of Littlefinger’s when he was weighing his options. Still, Sansa had taken the news better than her. She felt a tug of fear in her heart when she thought of losing Jon again, or that he would forget about her now that he had a true-born name and another family to turn to. Don’t be stupid, she chided herself, Jon would never put you aside. 

Fear cuts deeper than swords, she reminded herself. But this was a new kind of fear. Not the hot, passionate fear that took hold of you in battle, but a slow creeping one that had been there all along. She tried to will it away, yet it did not go, only turned into anger and aggression. The dagger’s hilt slipped from her grasp as she twirled it, and the blade managed to nick the skin between her thumb and forefinger. Arya hissed as her knife clattered onto the floor, but the pain only made her blood boil hotter.

“Are you alright?” Sansa gasped.

Arya picked up her knife and sheathed it in irritation. She sucked on the bleeding skin, annoyed at her own uncharacteristic clumsiness. 

 

“I’m fine,” she snapped, “But do you she is trying to trick us?"

 

“Daenerys?” Sansa questioned, puzzled “I thought you trusted her. But even if she was, what reason would Bran have for lying to Jon?”

“To make Jon a King,” she reasoned, almost believing it herself, “Maybe Daenerys is trying to ensure Jon won’t leave her, so-“ she licked her lips nervously, trying to justify a reason, thought she was turning desperate “-so she told Bran to lie about his ancestry and make him the heir. That way, she has the full support of the North, and Jon would be King.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said measuredly, “Bran- he’s seen things. Things that he couldn’t possibly know unless he was a greenseer.”

Arya willed herself to calm her nerves, and sat next to Sansa. She chewed on her lip, a habit that she had left back in the House of Black and White, but suddenly reappeared at the prospect of losing Jon. Despite the weight of her sword and dagger at her hip, and the scars on her skin, Arya felt like a little girl again. Jon won’t leave me, she decided, he might be a Targaryen, but he is no less my brother. She felt Sansa’s hand take hold of her shoulder, and she nearly unsheathed Needle from the shock of it. She moved her hands away from her blades and looked at her sister.

For a wild, fleeting second, she thought it was her mother. Sansa’s blue eyes shone with rare tenderness, but the red in her hair was the wrong shade, and her features were much lovelier than Lady Catlyn’s had ever been. She gave Arya’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“I can’t say I fully trust Daenerys. Not with everything that I’ve seen,” she began, “But she seems a decent woman, and she loves Jon. We can’t turn against each other. Not now. This came as much as a shock to her as it did to us, perhaps even more, but Jon is her blood too, and she might be our family soon enough. I think its Jon we need to worry about.”

Despite herself, she let out an incredulous chuckle, “I’d never thought you’d be the one to defend Daenerys.”

Arya could tell Sansa had something important to say, but was still hesitant. Her curiosity peeked at her sister’s apprehension. 

She swallowed thickly, “I think Daenerys might be-“

 

A series of knocks startled them. Sansa’s hand slipped from her shoulder, but she composed herself, and moved to open the door. 

 

“Your Grace,” Arya heard her say.

She heard shuffling footsteps, and turned around to see Jon and Daenerys closing the door behind them. The Queen wore her hair in a Northern fashion, but she did not look like any Northern woman Arya had ever seen. Her brother- cousin- took the seat next to her. Sansa settled on Jon’s other side.

Daenerys took a step back, “I will leave you to-“

“No,” Jon’s raspy voice called out, “Please- Dany, stay here.”

Arya opened her mouth to protest, but caught Daenerys’ eyes. She looked at Arya with sad apprehension. The Queen is asking for my permission, she realized, startled. She turned her head to see Jon, looking down at his trembling hands, and Arya considered that it was not only her who needed the comfort. She turned back to Daenerys and motioned for her to approach them. She might be our family soon enough, Arya repeated in her head as Daenerys took the lone seat in front of them. It was a queer thought, but not unwelcomed. She might be his aunt, but such marriages were not uncommon, even in the North. 

“I’m sorry” Jon said hoarsely, “I shouldn’t have sent you away from the crypts. You two are the Ladies of Winterfell, not me. It wasn’t my place to send you away. I just-" he breathed out in exasperation “- I’ve always wanted to be a Stark, and finding out I wasn’t even a Snow- well, it wasn’t very nice.”

Sansa patted his arm, “It was your place to send us away, Jon. You’re a King, and we understand the news came as a shock.”

“And you aren’t just a Targaryen,” Daenerys’ voice said firmly, “Your Mother was no less a Stark than Lord Eddard. The wolf blood runs in your veins, and it was Ned Stark who took you as his own. You are a Stark of Winterfell just as much as your sisters.” 

“We’re still your sisters?” Arya said. She did not mean it come out like a feeble question, but it sounded like a child’s voice even in her own ears. It was all she could do to keep tears from spilling.

Jon looked at her blankly for a moment, and Arya thought he was about to deny her and walk away, but he pulled her in for a tight embrace instead. He hooked his other arm around Sansa, and kissed the tops of their heads. Arya thought Sansa’s eyes were watery too, but her focus was on her former bastard brother.

“You’ll always be my little sisters, no matter whose blood I have,” he reassured her.

It shocked her to hear the change in his voice; it had turned from a hoarse whisper into a King’s word. She squeezed his middle again, and gave a weak smile.

“And you’ll always be my big brother, no matter how many crowns they put on your head.”

Jon and Sansa chuckled, and even the corners of Daenerys’ lips lifted a little, too. He looked around the room as if realizing something.

“Bran?” he voiced.

Sansa placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, just as she had done to Arya earlier, “He doesn’t seem bothered by the truth, Jon. I-“ she sucked in a sharp breath “- I don’t think he’ll ever be the same again. The sweet boy that liked to climb trees is no longer with us.”

Arya felt another pang of loss in her belly, but she knew it to be true. Jon nodded solemnly, and stood up. He stretched his hand to help Daenerys stand up, then kissed her knuckles gingerly. It was not an obscene gesture, but Arya felt like it was too intimate for her to witness all the same. 

“What about the two of you?” she asked softly. 

“What about us?” Jon asked, still holding Daenerys’ hands.

Sansa pursed her lips disapprovingly, but didn’t stop Arya from continuing. 

“Will you two get married now?” She asked.

Jon furrowed his brow, looking from Daenerys to his sisters.

“I haven’t asked-“ he said startled, “We’ve never-"

“No, we haven’t,” Daenerys agreed. Her voice did not waver, but Arya was amused to see her cheeks redden. 

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Arya was sure her sister was seething in annoyance at her question, but it had to be done. Daenerys hadn’t removed her hands from Jon’s.

“Well, we’re no longer children, but we support you, brother,” she pressed on, “So?”

Jon huffed out a nervous breath, and looked down at their joint hands. Arya had seen many terrible and repulsive things through her life, but it was the sight of her brother holding the woman he loved, and looking vulnerable that made her blood run cold. She wanted him to be happy and become King just as much as she wanted her bastard brother back at her side. Whatever happens, she told herself, Jon will have his sister. He will not lose me. Arya felt as uneasy as Sansa looked, but they did not dare disrupt the moment.

“What concerns me is keeping you happy and safe,” Daenerys said softly, “If you ever choose to leave me, I will continue to protect your people and the realm as I pledged to do. But I cannot say I haven’t wished for you to rule at my side. Heir or no, you’d make a fine King, Jon Snow.”

Jon cupped her face and kissed her. Arya looked over her shoulder, expecting Sansa to be scandalized, but she only looked amused. The sister I grew up would have blushed and thrown a fit, but Sansa is a woman grown, and so am I. Still, she tapped her foot impatiently as they broke apart, smiling.

“You do me a great honor, My Queen,” he murmured, so low, that Arya barely heard him.

“Will you marry me, then?” The queen asked, breathlessly. 

He pressed another chaste kiss on her lips, “Aye, I’ll marry you.” 

They shared nervous smiles. Sansa cleared her throat, and Arya grinned despite herself.

“If our rulers would be so kind, we still have a war to fight,” her sister said, firmly but not unkindly. 

Arya stood up, “Will you tell them you’re Lyanna’s son? The Northemen?” 

Jon shook his head, “We need not worry them about this now. We can tell them after the wedding- or after the war.”

“Hmm, the wedding,” Daenerys said giddily, “I like the sound of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not caught up with the timeline, despite being 15 chapters, the whole fic has taken place in little more than 3 days haha.
> 
> Please leave your feedback, as it is my only fuel for continuing. If you have any requests, please leave them below or message me @Violet-eyes-silver-hair in tumblr :)


	16. JAIME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister meets new allies; Conflicted in his own thoughts, he is summoned by the dragon queen and her lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know its been a long while, my dudes, so bear with me.
> 
> I've uploaded like 14 One Shots in the mean time, you have no reason to complain lol 
> 
> Its Jaime POV, but Jonerys centered. 
> 
> If you read carefully through the past 15 chapters, you'll notice this while fic has only taken place in like 3-4 days, so stop harassing me about "the time waste" these characters are doing, since several chapters take place at the same day. 
> 
> This picks up the same day Jon and Dany found out about R+L=J, and secretly decided to get married, but they know they have to go on and do their duty before anything else. Like I said, Jaime POV this time, but Jonerys centered.
> 
> I hope you enjoy !

Kingslayer, he thought bitterly. Oathbreaker. Man without honor. He remembered Ned Stark’s face swimming before him. Those grey, disapproving eyes looking in disgust as he stood in a growing puddle of the Mad King’s blood. Stark should have been grateful, but the look of pure disgust came to his mind as clear as ever. Then the face morphed, younger and leaner, and it was his bastard son, a deserter from the Night’s Watch, scowling at him. They put a crown on his head, and what did Jaime get? A golden hand. 

He knew he had been wrong to bait Tyrion and the Queen upon his arrival. That was something that a younger, more arrogant Jaime Lannister would have done. But Tyrion had killed their father and joined a cause against his own blood; He was not likely to forgive that. His anger had been stewing within himself for weeks as he rode North, mingled with bitter, self pity. I did this to myself, he had reflected gloomily. When Cersei killed Robert, he had only felt relief. When she crowned their son, he stood at her side and hailed Joff his king. When the sept was ashes, and their last boy turned into another cold corpse, what had he done then? Mourned, then slipped into her bed, as he had done as long as he could remember in the walls of the Rock. 

Casterly Rock could have once fielded fifty-thousand men with the combined forces of the Westerlands. His grandfather had let the Lannister name grow feeble and weak once, until Tywin took it upon himself to bring the lion back to the top. Robert’s Rebellion almost saw to their downfall again, that was until the sack of King’s Landing. At their peak during the War of the Five Kings, however, his father had as twenty-thousand man at arms from the Westerlands. They lost many after that from the fighting that broke out in the North, the Riverlands, and most recently, the field of fire at Highgarden. If the Targayen Queen had not killed so many, Jaime would have been able to bring a stronger force. Still, he had ridden relentlessly with Bronn to rally all the arms he could muster, promising the sellsword that his younger brother had the best chance of giving him a castle. Cersei had no chance to win the war. Grudgingly, Bronn accepted that there was no other way to go but to follow him North. 

He was heir to the Rock, and rightful Warden of the Westerlands; a lion of Lannister, but no Northerners had seen fit to offer him a room at the castle at the least. Jaime was not foolish enough to ask for one. The closer he was to the Northmen, the more likely he would lose his head. Only a day had passed since his troops settled camp outside the walls of the walls of Winterfell, but the northern troops were not meek when expressing their dislike for them. There had been another camp, smaller than any of there others, but so bizarre, Jaime could not miss it. By the dyes in their hair, their queer tongues, and their strange armor, Jaime knew what they were. Sellswords from the Free Cities, surely trailing after the Dragon Queen. His father’s men had called them mummers once, but these men named themselves the Second Sons.

It was in that very encampment where Jaime found Bronn, drinking and laughing around a fire with a group of men.

“The dead could be upon us any day now,” Jaime told him in annoyance, “You shouldn’t be drunk if you are to command our troops.”

A dark-haired man laughed, “I command better myself after a bit of drink in my belly.”

Bronn laughed at the man, and gestured for Jaime to sit. The men around them had a foreign look to them, but they were not nearly as hostile as the Northmen. Jaime felt uneasy, but he sat down all the same. Someone handed him a horn of ale. 

“I could use me a dagger like that,” Bronn said, pointing at the man’s belt.

He smiled, and flipped out a dagger from his belt in a blur that was so quick, Jaime didn’t see it until it was right in front of face. He took the hilt that was offered, and examined it, impressed by the metalwork. Bronn hummed in approval and inspected the naked, wanton woman wrought of bronze that made up the hilt of the blade, and Jaime handed it back to the commander. He sheathed it in his belt. “Beautiful, no?” 

Jaime nodded, and took a gulp from the fowl drink. “You command these men?” 

The man drank some more before answering. “I am Daario Naharis, and these are my second sons.” 

“Ah,” Bronn said, “You fight for the Dragon Queen’s gold?”

“I fight for Daenerys, yes,” Daario shrugged, "My Men fight for her gold.”

Bronn laughed, “I’ve met some very difficult women in my life,” he smirked distantly, “But I’ve never met a woman half as terrifying as that Dragon Queen of yours.”

The man grinned insolently, “She’s Daenerys Stormborn. She’s conquered cities, burned fleets, and trampled thousand-year old reigns in the span of a few years. Some call her Aegon with teats- Tell me, were you expecting her to be a squeamish maid?” 

Jaime was taken aback by his tone; sellswords were not known for their loyalty or devotion. 

Bronn only chuckled, “After meeting your sister-“ he nodded at Jaime, “-I was hardly expecting to meet a more intimidating woman. Nothin’ wrong with that, I s’ppose.”

The man named Daario smirked, “Don’t let Daenerys fool you. She’s the sort of woman that can be a good friend and a bad enemy.”

Bronn and Jaime exchanged knowing looks. It seemed to Jaime that Daenerys controlled these men through devotion as Cersei controlled them with fear. Even in Margery’s short reign, it seemed to Jaime he’d ever met a man so devoted to his Queen. Perhaps it was just this man though, he hoped wearily. 

“Do you know her well?” He asked.

“I used to,” the Tyroshi conceded darkly, drinking his mug of ale. Bronn’s eyes shifted before Daario spoke again, “Seems to me its the Stark dog who knows her now.”

Jaime did not like Jon Snow either, but there was something in Daario’s brashness that annoyed him all the same. Resent him as he might, no one could dispute Ned Stark was a good man, and despite his bastard blood, Jon Snow seemed a Stark’s son through a through. 

“Seems that way,” Bronn shrugged. He raised his head and looked past him with amusement. He leaned in a murmured something in Jaime's ear, “Well look at that, your lady love returns.” 

For a wild moment, Jaime thought he meant his twin, but when he turned his head, it was Brienne of Tarth who approached, flanked by men at her sides. One of them he recognized as her squire, but the other was a Northman he did not know, with a bushy red beard, covered in animal hides. A wildling, he knew at once. What Brienne of Tarth was doing at the side of a Wilding, he could not begin to say. The wench certainly didn’t look like she was enjoying his company. The group halted in front of him, and Daario Naharis grinned at them.

“The sailors warned me there would be giants in Westeros,” he mused, “But I must admit, I am a bit disappointed.”

Jaime glared at him, but bit his tongue and turned to Brienne, “It’s good to see you, my Lady.”

"You as well, Ser," She gave a curt nod, “There is need for you in the castle, Ser Jaime.”

The foreign sellsword let out a long, low whistle and laughed. “Jaime Lannister. You should have said so, I could have brought her grace your head.” 

“That's eastern southerner!” The red-headed man suddenly barked with a laugh, pointing at Daario, “I have daughters bigger than him!” 

Daario gave a wry smile and stood up, “That is so? In my experience, quicker men kill the bigger men more often than not.” 

The wildling spat on the ground to express what he thought of that. “And the bigger, quicker men kill them all in the end."

Brienne clenched her jaw in annoyance, and put her hand at the pommel of her sword. “We are to escort you to the castle, Ser Jaime, and the Tyroshi as well.”

“But not me, eh?” Bronn said, dismayed, “All right, have at it, lovers. I’ll find meself my own wench.”

Jaime shot him a pointed look, but Bronn only stood and left. The rest trekked together past the Dothraki, Unsullied, and Northern camps to reach the outer walls of the castle. Some soldiers scowled at them as they passed, but most didn’t seem to care.

“What did that southern servant of yours mean about you two being lovers?” The wildling suddenly demanded of him, motioning to the female knight. 

Brienne flushed bright red, and Jaime had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the incoming laugh, as to not embarrass her any further. “Bronn can think what he wants. I’ve only ever loved one woman.” 

“Aye, your sister, they say,” the wildling said, disgusted but amused. Jaime’s stomach dropped. “Tell me, how can a man lie with his own blood when he could lie with any other woman there is?”

“I’d like to know that myself,” Daario piped in, with his sickly grin that Jaime already had grown to hate. 

Jaime would not reply to that. Instead, he looked to the squire, “Will my brother be there, Podrick?” 

The boy seemed startled to have been addressed, but he nodded dutifully, “Yes, my Lord.” 

“Do ye fuck your brother too?” the Wildling wondered out loud.

Daario let out a bark of laughter, “What do they call you?”

“Name’s Tormund Giantsbane,” he said, shrugging the man off. “Bugger you, though. I don’t want to befriend a man who’s tried to steal another man’s woman.” 

That wiped the smug look right off the sellsword’s face. Jaime had to suppress a grin. He walked closer to Brienne and gripped the pommel of his own sword, eyeing the one the matching one at her hip. 

“You still serve Lady Sansa, I take it?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“Do the Starks know we have their family’s ancestral sword, reworked in two pieces?”

Her brows creased in worry, “No. Will you tell them, Ser?”

He shook his head, “The Starks have enough reasons for wanting me dead. I’m not likely to give them another one, but you can do as you wish.”

That seemed to conflict her, he noticed, but she said nothing. When they reached the gate, the guards let them in with weary, distrustful glares. A woman knight, a Tyroshi, a Payne, and a Lannister, he mused, they must hate that. It struck him curious that no one asked to take his weapon, until he realized that they must have thought a one-handed knight could not have caused much damage. Then again, they had not taken the sellswords wanton blades either. He was starting to grow apprehensive, until they went up stone steps, and he knew they weren’t taking him to a dungeon at the very least. 

Finally, the doors opened to reveal a group of people busing themselves around a map on a large, oaken table. The Targaryen Queen sat at the top of the table, with Jon Snow leaning over her to look at the map, one hand placed on the small of her back. Jaime was surprised to see him showing the affection openly, but when the bastard raised his dark eyes to Jaime, his blood ran cold. He looked around for Tyrion, knowing that despite his treasons, his brother was the best chance he had in staying at their good graces. But the dwarf was not there.

“Your Grace,” he said curtly, nodding at them. 

“My Queen,” Daario called at his side. 

Daenerys eyes glazed past them warily, and motioned for them to sit. Jaime counted the other people in the room: Sansa and Arya Stark, Varys the Spider, two old knights, a fat man with the look of a maester but no chain around his neck, several dark-skinned men and women he did not know, and to his dismay, crippled Brandon Stark sitting at his brother’s side. The boy’s eyes were blank, following him across the room silently. Jaime waited until he was to be addressed, but the Queen only turned her head away to look into the map, then murmured something in Jon Snow’s ear. His frown deepened, but he nodded. 

“Daenerys-“ the sellsword began.

“You will speak when spoken to,” she said curtly, not taking her eyes of the map. 

She could be cold, Jaime noticed, but there was a comfort in knowing she was calculating, as opposed to her father. The thought of Aerys made him want to grab his sword nervously, but his metal hand only clanked when it made contact with the pommel by instinct. He turned away and looked into the map, making sense of the carved sigils over the landmarks.

The door opened once again. His brother entered, looking very troubled, with a tall boy trailing behind him. Their eyes met, so Jaime looked up at the boy instead. His mouth fell open as he came face to face with a young Robert Baratheon. He stood up abruptly and partly unsheathed his sword, barely noticing as the Unsullied men crowded around him with spears. 

It was Brienne who spoke first, in weak tones, “Renly?” 

They all turned to look at the boy as he entered, shifting uncomfortably, “Uh, I’m afraid you speak of my uncle, m'Lady.” 

“You’re one of Robert’s bastards,” he realized, sheathed his sword back and sitting down meekly.

“An impressive likeness,” Tyrion agreed, taking the empty seat by the Queen’s side. He eyed Jon Snow grimly, “I take it you solved the issue of-” 

“Yes,” Jon Snow said harshly. His younger brother lowered his gaze and nodded weakly, but whatever troubled him, Jaime could not say. The Warden of the North looked around the room and examined everyone. His eyes lingered on the Tyroshi, but after a tense moment, he looked away. “The war we’re heading into is not like any you’ve ever fought. If we lose, there will be no treaties or yielding. No bending the knee for anyone. Only death.”

The Queen looked up, looking straight at Jaime, “All that has occurred before this war does not matter. The dead do not care what house you came from or who your fathers were. If we are to face this together, it must be as one people, united against them. This is why you’re all here, friends or foe, we are all part of a larger whole now, and we cannot afford to fight amongst ourselves. And to prove the strength of our alliance,” she shifted uncomfortably, looking displeased, “We’ve decided to grant amnesty to all men and women who fought for the living at our side. No matter how vile your crimes were against each other-“ Jaime could feel eyes on him, “-So long as you bend the knee, you will be allowed to live under the Queen's peace.”

Tyrion let out a deep breath of relief. “A wise choice, Your Grace.” 

“So Cersei will be allowed to live, after all this?” Arya Stark demanded, voicing his own question.

“No." The Queen clasped her hands together in front of her.

Jaime swallowed, “But you said-“

“We said,” Jon Snow interrupted brusquely, “All men and women who fought at our side.”

Jaime didn’t know how react to that, so he nodded. 

“Before you think of betraying us, Ser Jaime, know that I’ve decided to let your sister’s child live,” The Queen interjected smoothly, “Cersei cannot win this war. If you were to lose your head in an attempt at forsaking us, that will put him or her at great risk. If I wished it, I could order you flayed at this very moment. Your sister and her followers could be burning alive in the Red Keep by the morrow. However, I understand the importance of uniting the realm and keeping the peace.”

“What happens to the ones that don’t kneel?” he asked on a whim, “Will you burn them in their homes, as your father wanted to, for betraying their rightful Queen?” 

“No,” she said calmly, but her posture was stiff. “That’s the sort of thing your sister has done, though, so don’t think to scold me on my father’s actions.”

“Cersei was right to kill the Tyrells,” he said on impulse, bristling, “Your father was vicious and mad. I slit his throat to keep him from doing worse.”

“You did,” Daenerys conceded, “And that was the best thing you’ve ever done.”

Jaime had been ready to give another heated retort, but no sound came from his mouth. Kingslayer, they had called him; the same men who despised the Mad king as much as he, who suffered by his command and his rule, and still looked down at him with those accusing glares. Oathbreaker. Man without honor. Yet here was the only person in the world who had a right to truly hate him for it. The daughter of the man he slaughtered, banished as a child for his actions. But her eyes were not filled with revulsion, only indifference. Suddenly, it was as if Rhaegar was looking at him, with those same piercing, violet eyes. Jaime had to look away.

 

Thankfully, Jon Snow broke the tension. “When I was at Castle Black, a battle broke out between the Free-folk and the Night’s Watch. they must have had more than twice the men that we did, and the castle had no inner walls to protect us from an inside attack. But it was the black brothers that won.” He looked to the man named Tormund, “Your people are fierce, and they’ve proven their loyalty at the battle against the Boltons-“

“Battle of the Bastards, aye,” Tormund agreed. Meanwhile, a dark skinned woman on the table was translating to the Dothraki at her side in quick whispers. 

Jon Snow clenched his jaw, “Aye. But the Free-folk have no discipline. The Dothraki are no mounted knights either, but how did you fare facing them in an open field?” He looked at Jaime.

“We lost,” he conceded curtly, “And there was the dragon as well.”

“The Night King has a dragon of his own, and we have one less,” Tyrion told him. Jaime blinked, unsure if he heard correctly. Dread coiled inside him as he tried to look for someone to contradict his brother, but no one did. 

“The dragons have a rider,” Jon interrupted, motioning to Daenerys, “But our armies are not prepared. There is little a mounted Dothraki horde can do in the snowy forests, if that is where the dead intend to attack first. The Westerosi and Unsullied are trained and disciplined, but we are not prepared for the worst.”

“Grey Worm,” the Queen called, and one of her men straightened up, “I will need you to gather all the Unsullied that speak the common tongue and have them relay these plans amongst the Northern troops and their own. The Second Sons speak several tongues as well,” she said, looking past Daario, “They need to converge with the Unsullied and Dothraki until every man in the ranks understands our strategy.”

“Of course,” he agreed, “It shall be done if it please you.” 

“A commander is only as strong as his men,” Jon Snow said, looking at them both, “The Dothraki might be unruly at times, but the Queen has seen to it that they follow her orders. Do what you must to ensure your men are ready when the battle comes. Gendry, how many weapons are ready for use?”

Robert's bastard looked up, “The armorers have worked day and night to make four wagons of weapon. We have dragonglass blades, spearheads and arrowheads, but we’ll have more before the night is over."

Snow turned back to them, "You must train your men to wield them, or else they will die. Normal steel will not kill the wights, only fire and obsidian. Make sure everybody understand that.”

Jaime felt restless, “So I must teach my men as if they were greenboys with their new weapons?”

“I expect you won’t be doing much teaching with one hand,” one of the Northern nights said cooly. The younger Stark girl looked to Jaime, “I have no love for Lannisters, but the least you could do for your men is bring them back to their wives and children, alive. You can only do that if they train amongst us.”

Her words seem to surprise everyone, but there was no denying the truth of it. Jaime nodded wearily, imaging what Bronn would say about fighting with a spearhead instead of a longsword. Sellspearmen did not have the same ring as sellsword. 

Ser Davos spoke quietly, “And if the castle falls?”

Jon Snow was avoiding their eyes. The bastard flexed his fingers at his side, and considering his words carefully, “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“But if it does?” Tyrion insisted, “What do we do then?”

Daenerys raised her head and gave her lover a grim, knowing look, but he nodded in silent agreement. She turned to the Stark siblings. In that light, looking pale and tired, Jaime thought she looked like her mother.

“If the castle falls,” she said softly, “I will give a signal for every living person to retreat south. I will try to hold them off as long as I can with my dragon, and take as many of them, but I cannot stay on the air unguarded for so long, or else we risk losing another dragon to the Night King. If they take Winterfell, it falls onto us to burn it to the ground.”

Arya rose from her chair, but it was Sansa who spoke in a shrill voice, “You cannot do that!”

“If we must,” Jon Snow said, “Let the dead burn in it, and we go south to reform in the Riverlands. Robb was crowned King of the North and the Trident, it will fall to the three of you to rally the Riverlords in your mother’s name.”

“No!” Arya argued, losing her calm demeanor, “We will not lose Winterfell!”

“M’lady, you can find another castle,” Ser Davos said kindly, “But you cannot find another realm. Winterfell is the heart of the North, and it’s the Starks of Winterfell’s duty to protect the North, no matter what.” 

Robert’s bastard placed a hand on the girl’s arm, giving her a sympathetic look. She sat down, seething. After that, they launched into the plan, calculating when the opposing army would arrive, and how they could react to each possible attack. He found himself rather impressed with the plans set out by the Queen and her Warden, thought not as impressed with their fleeting looks. He did not truly care, or at least not as much as the sellsword at his side, but everyone took notice. A brush of the hand here, a touch on the arm there, murmurs inside the other’s ear, and soft looks while they thought other people weren't looking. It suddenly struck Jaime that this bastard lord was more of a King to the Targaryen girl that he had ever been to Cersei. That stung more than it should have.

The boy named Gendry was looking straight at him, then he leaned down and whispered something in the she-wolf's ear. She scowled at Jaime, and whispered something back. Kingslayer, he knew. Oathbreaker. Then he looked over to Brandon Stark, and resigned himself to knowing that the hatred people had for him was well earned. Brienne had been standing dutifully behind Lady Stark the entire time, her Oathkeeper at hand, and looking at her gave Jaime hope; perhaps, this war could return jim from his own undoings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to emphasize that this was the first fic I ever wrote, and since its first chapter upload, I've rewatched GoT, read ASOIAF into A Feast for Crows, and analyzed each character more thoroughly from the show and books alike. 
> 
> I have many regrets for this fics of OOC or cliches that I wish I hadn't written at the time, plus plotholes and weird plot points, but I don't regret it, since it was the first fic I ever wrote. I was very reluctant to continue, but your encouragement made me want to see if I could improve further into it. Like I said, despite the hiatus, I've written several good one shots to improve upon my writing, so you can't really complain I left you hungry lol.
> 
> If you didn't like it, feel free to close the tab, pals and gals.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts, though, in polite moderation, and as always, thank you for reading so far :)
> 
> P.S: I have no idea when the next chapter will be or if I'll update regularly, but keep your eye out


	17. + NOTICE +

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ + +
> 
> ITS NOT AN UPDATE BUT PLEASE READ I'D APPRECIATE IT!
> 
> HIATUS IS ENDING SOON.
> 
> \+ + +

(☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) 

Hello lovely readers. I am so grateful to have the enthusiasm from you guys to continue this fic. This was my FIRST fanfiction EVER, and it is my most popular one. But the more I wrote, the better I became and the more aware of in character-canon and other similar fics I became. I want to be good, I want to be canon compliant, but I also want you guys to read something that you haven't read 10000 times over.

The thing is, I have improved a lot since I first began, and some parts of this fic left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, even as much as you guys have loved it. So, I've began to reedit and restructure all the chapters to match my current writing style without changing the timeline or the story at all- even if some parts of it I regret- its what you guys have followed so far and I didn't want to take it away from you.

By doing this, the next chapter will finally feel comfortable to introduce real, REAL plot into this fic. Its something I'm confident will happen on Seasaon 8 and I'm basically writing down my version of how I think it's going to go down. 

This fic has, for the most part, been really Jonerys centered, and it WILL continue to be, with more Jon/Dany chapters than before (and more smut ;) ) but it will now feature plot and dynamics that I've barely touched on before. 

I'm grateful for your patience, my next chapter will be Tyrion and it's not too long so it shouldn't take that long to finish, but after that we will touch on some Gendry/Arya playing the game and taking part of this new plot I've created, and then we'll be back to smut-ville in the Jonerys train. 

For those that complain about my updates, I will remind you that I have contributed 20+ Game of Thrones fanfics since I first joined the fandom and you guys are welcome to check those out/make requests. 

When I do make the update, I would recommend you read from the beginning again if you forgot how things are in this fic, just because of how it's all going to be the same plot but better writing. Who knows, I might have even added some new stuff and you won't want to miss it :) 

(☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿) (☉‿☉✿)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to wrap up this fic within 10 more chapters so I can release a brand new series from Dragonstone that I've been working on the side. It's going to be a chapter fic of what Jon/Dany's lives were like living in Dragonstone together for months, and how their slow burn dynamic grew so close offscreen. Everything on the fic will be canon-compliant and fit the past and future canon so it won't feel out of place, but it's going to have a plot and it won't lack romance/smut, I already know how to work around that so don't worry lol! 
> 
> Thank you for your patience and your support. It has not gone unnoticed. 
> 
> xoxo


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